For several years, I have struggled with this compulsive urge to bite / chew / scrape the tip of my tongue. It occurs in cycles, like this weird never-ending itch that needs to be scratched. Once I've started, I can't stop. It's gotten to the point where my tastebuds have become swollen and white in the spot I keep biting, which for some reason makes me want to bite more. It's painful, but in some way I find myself seeking out the pain. I want to brush it off, but it's genuinely affecting my quality of life and ability to focus on anything else. I will spend hours just obsessing over this behavior, rubbing my tongue against the back of my teeth, scratching it with a jagged edge of a tooth, etc. My therapist is saying it might be related to ocd or asperger's. Does anyone else deal with this?

I'll do my best to recount this, but I admit it's tough to reach back and remember the surprise that came with youthful innocence as you meet your own sexual experiences, and nothing is ever as it was described to be, expected to be, some things are worse, some things are great despite seeming yucky at a glance, and some things just don't matter as much as others said.
Best to describe "virginal me" as someone dedicated to her family's devout Christian faith. Never really questioning the faith itself, I didn't totally get how this stuff would work in a practical way as I started having urges and desires towards boys. And I thought I was just a-waitin' to be some homemaking wife, a baby factory... basically everything that I was told I wanted. I believed that I must want these things too!
I'll say this much - I'd made it to high school around this time, and this was a fairly average age for many women to try sexual things. Won't get more specific than that, just in case. And I became very aware of the sort of 'fresh meat' mentality that makes young girls practically competitive with each other -- you know, the things we'll do to keep a boys interest.
So, sure. I had a few boyfriends. My first real kiss, I remember praying for most of the night because I was afraid I liked it too much, and certainly would become a whore overnight, and what's up with these hormones doin' witchcraft without my permission, anyways?
Anyways, in a tale as old as time, I assume, a new family moves in up the street, I'm immediately crushing on the son of this family, and he seemed older, but not by much. I was wrong on this one, he was 22, but I didn't know that, and it certainly wasn't love, but it was at least lust at first sight. I could fin the sin boling inside of me already. Tried to ignore him.
And by trying to ignore him, I mean I'd get as gussied up as possible to simply take a walk around the block while he played basketball alone and shirtless outside, daydreaming about what I might do if he said hello.
Let's try to speed up to get to the parts that probably matter more to you. Oddly, I don't quite remember how we got formally introduced to each other, but we started spending some time together. We were the only people on this whole block under 30 so it just worked out this way. He (and his family) drank, smoked cigarettes, and some other inhalable things. Before him (and we'll call him "Alan"), I thought those were the direct paths to hell. Watching him consume? It felt grown up, mature, like I was living a taboo just for being nearby and able to smell the smoke and beer breath on him.
Before too long he asked me about guys at my school, I did the bashful "no one really notices me" response which was ultimately true but I also had made many concerted decisions and efforts to not get noticed -- I was seen as a goody two shoes church girl and was the butt of many, many jokes. He asked what types of guys I like, and I told him I didn't know, and that was true. Listed off some virtues like honesty, being funny, attractive, and he gave me a "well, that's me". We talked about the difference in age, I laughed it off knowing he couldn't be serious, but asked him the same in return. I got a pretty different answer from him than mine. His list was quite a bit more shallow, but I figured it just covered the surface. He went on about not believing me, that high school boys were dumb (and they often are), that I'm too pretty to be single -- that one sent me over the moon.
Time blurs a lot of this. What felt like weeks of coming up with excuses to hang out with him between when I got home from school and before my parents came home was probably less than two weeks. I'll just get into some nitty gritty now, this is a bit forward in the story, but I don't see much reason to dwell on the priors.
Alan was almost a foot taller than me. Had longish blonde hair, and had that very nice athletic build from working off the alcohol playing basketball alone in the front yard. I loved watching his hips with each jump.
A specific day where I "accidentally" walked in front of his house on the way to mine, which meant I basically had to walk around the block backwards and undetected after getting off of the bus, he was outside smoking, beer in hand. Motioned me over, I don't recall all that was said, but he was talking about how much it sucked to be single. I told him again I'd never been in anything serious with a guy before. I was invited in, but this was the beginning of something different.
He lived in a converted carport/garage attached to his family's house. Just gray cinderblock walls surrounding the possessions of a man-child with very little ambition. Skull bongs with candle wax dripped all over them, a dusty loveseat, a mattress on the floor, no bedframe. No need for curtains as there were no windows. Just a door that would lead outside, and a door that would lead to the rest of the house, which I'd never seen before. But there we were, alone, and he asked if I wanted to see what he really looks for in a girl. Of course I did! And in no time flat, a few clicks of a remote control, and porn was playing on his dingy TV screen from a DVD player.
I'd seen some porn out of curiosity, and some other exposure, but not exactly a large amount of it. Had a general working knowledge of the most common things one might see, and a mental idea of what sets of genitalia looked like, as well as what they produce/excrete. Does that sound clinical? It should. At the time, most of my sexual knowledge was either general functionality, and a lot of "things women did to land a man but didn't really like doing". One of those things I'd heard even from my own mom was happening on the screen with precious little notice: an impossibly busty woman was blowing someone. Of course I pretended like this was no big deal and I watched porn allllll the time.
He went on to tell me that "any girl of his" would be really into doing that for him whenever he wanted. I'd asked if that had been common for him with ex's. He'd said something like "no, and that's why they are ex's. If I could get blowjobs anytime I wanted, I would literally never want anything else in bed", and there was a laugh, but a bit of seriousness to it as he looked at me and waited for my response. We talked a little more about the intricacies - sometimes it'd be fast like what was happening onscreen, sometimes it'd be really slow so he'd lay back and enjoy...then the money shot happened, conversation ceased as the random busty lady got her face coated. This is why I asked the million dollar question about if he expected to shellac his next girlfriends face with each blowjob. He told me, no. The rationale was that women only did that in porn so you could see that he really finished. HIS girls would swallow it.
Listen, I know how insane this probably sounds, but the idea that you'd ever consume that stuff was just like science fiction to me. Figured that if it tasted half okay, no one would ever have kids, really.
He used the remote, went to yet another POV blowjob scene, kind of groaning in happiness as he'd say things like "yeah, take it girl" or "yeah, you know you love being a dickeater". I hadn't heard him talk like this. Also, my hormones were somehow excited by it all.
I thought about things quickly; my understanding was that blowjobs were a pretty submissive act, but most of the women in my church seemed to submit to their husbands, and since I didn't recall anyone in the 'scare you out of premarital sex' sermons saying that blowjobs counted (because I really was this naive), I started wondering to myself if this was something I'd be okay with doing. Seemed like a direct line from giving Alan head to being his girlfriend.
But next to me, he started rubbing the bulge in his shorts. Over the cloth, but with a thumb tucked inside, like he'd planned to go exploring, but remembered I was in front of him. Even my naive ass knew he was hard. This seemed like a good time to ask him if he wanted me to leave, and he said I shouldn't since we were enjoying "the show" together. I won't pretend my hormones weren't twirling like crazy, but it was also pretty scary to me then. I'd try to stay on topic but ask other questions. One was along the lines of "If you had a girlfriend that did that for you whenever, what else would you expect out of her", and his answer was basically "do what I like in bed, the rest works itself out, and I probably wouldn't care past that". How many times a week? "You mean how many times a day", he'd say with a guffaw.
Mentally, I was weighing things, did I want to be his girlfriend so badly that I'd jump right into the unknown? Did I want to be a girlfriend at all? My hormones said yes to the latter, but weren't immediately sure of the former. I responded with something I don't quite recall, but measured up to "if all you want are blowjobs. I bet I'd be great at being your girlfriend"
He motioned towards his zipper and asked something like " do you mind if I...?", trailing off. I genuinely thought he wanted to excuse himself to rub one out, so I said I didn't mind. It was that fast that he had his dick out, stroking himself, and asked with all the gusto in the world: do I want to try it?
This, I remember like it was yesterday.
I said I'd have to be his girlfriend for that! "Want to be my girlfriend, then?" I'd mentioned I didn't know how to do it. "I'll show you how" That's all it takes? "If you swallow, you're definitely my girlfriend"
This girl didn't have a damn clue how relationships began, were handled, and every old adage I'd ever been told about sex acts that "keep men happy" came flooding into my mind. Maybe this was how you get a real boyfriend? Technically this "isn't sex"? It's like my life flashed before my eyes as he guided my head down. I looked down until I got too close to focus my eyes, seeing his blondish-brown pubic hair while he stroked his cock next to me. With a sigh and more butterflies in my stomach than most forests, I said "where do you want me?" and just that quickly, his hand went away from his cock and just guided my head riiiiiight down to it.
As soon as his cock, damp with precum, touched my lips, I instinctively opened my mouth and let him slide right in. "Showing me how to do it" meant "putting his hand on the back of my head and using my mouth in place of his hand". Beyond the obvious, he actually wasn't too pushy. It felt like a lot at the time. I marveled at how much bigger the head of his cock seemed in my mouth than just looking at it. No idea if he was looking at the screen or looking at me, I heard him cheering me on, quietly: "good girl", "just like that", "move your tongue more... JUST like that" while he kept my head going at a steady pace.
When he said "it always takes me longer to finish when I drink, sorry", I was pretty confused - I realized I didn't know how long these even took on average. He paused at one point to swig from his beer can, letting go of my head, saying "keep going baby". I'd never been called baby. I'd never been called a good girl. My brain and heart loved it, and I started mentally assuming this was now my fiance because I genuinely was that naive.
He was good with direction, yes, but no real moans. I didn't know I was to expect them, but for this reason, I had no metric to decide how long I'd been doing this, how long I should expect to be doing it, or anything. Just... swallow when he's done. I got more into it as my heart got more involved, and showed some initiative by choosing to bob my head faster (I really didn't know my way around a penis back then, so I assumed speed was the key), which got him to say something like "damn baby, you really like this!", when I was thinking "I don't know about that, I just really like YOU", but it instead came out as a muffled "mmhmm" -- because I didn't want him to think I was having a bad time.
In the moment, I didn't know if I was "having a good time". Looking back, I'm fairly sure that I was thinking "I really want him to be my boyfriend and this is how to make that happen", and my faith wasn't really entering my mind much once I felt him push my head. He never went so far as to gag me, but did keep steadily guiding me. Also, in looking back, I'm not sure why I wanted a boyfriend so badly -- the inexplicable desires of a teenage girl, I'd guess?
Back to the situation?
His grip on my head tightened, and I only had a second to think to myself "I must be doing something right" before he shot spurt after spurt after spurt of cum into my unsuspecting mouth. He grunted with each shot, and it was only really as his orgasm subsided that I really started getting anxious about what I'm supposed to be doing. Was I supposed to swallow it and leave? Do I take his dick out of my mouth first and then swallow, or try to do it with him shoved against my tonsils?
That was mostly answered with him pulling my head up, telling me it got really sensitive. He looked happy and almost sleepy. And then... "you going to swallow?"
This might be hard to believe, but I wasn't even thinking about if I liked the taste or not. It was all so new, especially this texture. I nodded that I would, and had to fight making a face as I choked it back, it hit my bitter tastebuds, and I shuddered a bit, and the aftertaste hit me of the saltiest and most bitter concoction I could have ever imagined.
Until I went home, everything that happened for the next few minutes is there in my memory as a blur, but I do recall some very specific things. Most of all, the main question on my mind was "... well, what happens now?" - I'd just done something I'd been told I was supposed to hate doing, but I didn't hate it. I swallowed, which I was told was the worst and it made you a total ho, but I'd only done it the one time, and didn't feel like a total ho. Overall, I was shocked at how much I didn't mind it. Not only did I not mind it, I wasn't opposed to doing it again, and I felt that way immediately. Wasn't sure if this was me weighing if I was ready to do this again, but that's getting way ahead of the story.
When I gulped it down, I sat straight up and looked directly at him, assuredly waiting for some kind of cue about what the hell people do after a blowjob, you've swallowed his cum -- literally everything I knew told me he was supposed to be falling asleep now, and he very much wasn't asleep while he shoved his cock back into his shorts.
What came next was a negotiation that I didn't realize was a negotiation. After I said "how did I do", and he'd told me I did really well, but I'd learn more over time, and the best thing I did was "swallow like a champ". Asking him if most girls did that for him, he'd said "no, and that's why I'm single". Knowing what I know years later, that's arguably true! Just a creative way to put it.
But those questions started pouring out of him as the afterglow subsided, all of which I greeted with the same answer: "If you were my girlfriend you'd do that whenever I said?", "You're gonna swallow every time?", "Would you do it first thing in the morning if I said so?", "You're okay with me not doing that for you, I hate doing that for girls?", "Wow, you really liked that cum, didn't you?" is the last one he asked with a huge grin. I answered yes to all of it -- I didn't see a problem with those things, really. It was only when he talked about me "liking cum" that I was fibbing. I didn't hate it, but I didn't know what to make of it, and again, was mostly surprised that it was nowhere near as bad as I was led to believe it'd be. Besides, I'm getting a boyfriend!
He peck-kissed me after a hug, and led me to his door. Told me to not worry about knocking, to just come in whenever -- that kind of trust bowled me over, I must say. And of course, leaned in and whispered in my ear "but you know we got to keep this secret for now, a lot could happen, you're young..." and in the moment, I agreed. I had my own reasons for thinking that, but they hit me like a sledgehammer as I walked out the door and made my way home.
I wondered exactly why I was so hellbent on him. He had no job. No car. No license. If he had friends, I hadn't seen any of them (but he did, and that's a story for later). Breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn't going to have to explain my brand new dating situation to my parents because we were going to keep it quiet. Also, I panicked that it'd somehow be very obvious to my parents when I got home that I was still a virgin, but had done something sexual. That was silly, and sure, I hid it, but probably because I started hiding myself away from them.
That was a Friday. I was in my bedroom just about to go to sleep, when an inebriated Alan tapped on my window; he wanted me to know that he wanted to be up around 10 AM, so I should probably make plans to go over and "get used to waking" him up that way. I smiled with wild ideas about the fun we'd have together after I woke him up and we got the blowjob situation out of the way. Oh, I was so naïve.
SO naïve. But I agreed, and he told me he was excited to see his good girl in the morning, and I melted.
I'll pick up from here next time.

It’s such an “Oda thing” to make something called “Mother Flame” quite literally be a flame, and a tiny one at that, but beneath this seemingly straight-forward design lays a much, MUCH deeper meaning (which is also very much an Oda thing). I don’t think people realize just how intrinsically tied The Mother Flame and its creator Dr. Vegapunk are to the very source of life on Earth – the Sun. After all, Vegapunk’s other namesake, “Stella”, quite literally translates to “Star” or "Sun".
https://preview.redd.it/1h9zswyaqszc1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=db8a458da80df80b06cb9732833c1862487ac0d3

Dr. Vegapunk’s Origin

I’m sure that by now pretty much everyone is aware that Vegapunk is heavily based on a real life theoretical physicist, Albert Einstein. Old Vegapunk’s design - that of an old man with gray hair, a mustache and a large tongue - is pretty much a 1-to-1 adaptation of Einstein’s appearance, down to even the tongue.
https://preview.redd.it/hdkhb71fqszc1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=9496e3e3afd1048ec3097dfdedd5cf971376bb86
However, Vegapunk isn’t meant to be a simple 1-to-1 adaptation of Einstein, but rather an amalgamation of a bunch of real life scientists. The apple-like lid on Vegapunk’s head is a reference to the famous story of Sir Isaac Newton discovering gravity after an apple fell down on his head. Vegapunk’s goal of providing the world with free energy is something that Nikola Tesla always dreamed of doing. And yet, ironically, the ^(2nd) most important inspiration behind the character of Vegapunk is actually a not-so real scientist – the mythical inventor Daedalus.
Jacob Peter Gowy's The Fall of Icarus (1635–1637)

The Myth of Daedalus and Icarus

The name of Chapter 1114, “The Wings of Icarus”, is a reference to the famous story of Daedalus and Icarus. According to the Greek mythos, Daedalus was a mythical inventor who created wings made of feathers and wax to escape from Crete (an island) where he and his son, Icarus, were held captive. Icarus, in his arrogance, ignored his father's warnings and, wanting to reach Heaven, flew higher and higher until he got too close to the Sun. His wings melted, and he fell into the sea where he met his end. This is where the saying “he flew too close to the sun” comes from. Interestingly, the myth of Daedalus and Icarus is quite similar to another Greek myth, the fall of Phaethon.
https://preview.redd.it/t2wh6m1kqszc1.png?width=1600&format=png&auto=webp&s=22dbc311551f6718b648ab30a1caf906656a63d5
Phaethon was the son of Apollo, the Greek God of the sun and light who insisted on driving the chariot of the sun. Even though Apollo warned him time and time again that this would bring about his end, Phaethon refused to back down. Eventually, Phaethon got what he wanted, only to realize that he did not have what it takes to control the chariot’s horses and fell down to his death.
In the case of Vegapunk, “flying too close to the Sun” would be a metaphor for him studying the Poneglyphs and learning about the Void Century which is what eventually gets him killed. However, when Vegapunk talks about flying too close to the Sun the panel of Mother Flame appears on the page. I believe this is because Mother Flame is quite literally a piece of the Sun.
Chapter 1114

The Mother Flame

When talking about the real life scientist that inspired Vegapunk’s character, I purposefully left out one - J. Robert Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer was a theoretical physicist often called the “father of the atomic bomb” due to his contribution to its development.
Drawing by \"u/Stich_kun_draws\"
The Atom(ic) bomb got its name due to the process known as “Nuclear Fission” in which an atom is split into smaller nuclei, releasing a VERY LARGE amount of (nuclear) energy (which then makes the bomb go “boom”). Another process from which nuclear energy is derived is “Nuclear Fusion.)”. Like its name suggests, fusion is the opposite process of fission in which two or more atomic nuclei combine to form one or more different atomic nuclei. It’s the process used in Thermonucleafusion weapons, second-generation nuclear weapon design, and, more importantly, nuclear fusion is how the Sun generates its energy.
A diagram of fusion in the Sun
What Vegapunk created wasn’t the flame we saw but rather the container (the “tank of water”) in which it is located. The flame - a piece of the sun - is the energy source whose power is then harvested and contained in the machine and which is then used to power the weapon known as the “Mother Flame”.
Mother Flame next to a basic diagram of a thermonuclear weapon. The A&Mu on the machine is a pun for “Atom”. In Japanese you can read “&”as “to”, which then makes it “Atomu”
This would explain Vegapunk’s willingness to create such a thing. You see, nuclear power - besides generating A LOT of energy - is one of the cleanest, sustainable energy sources as it reduces carbon emissions. If Vegapunk wanted to create a power source to fuel the entire world which is sinking due to man-made causes, then harnessing the power of the sun is the way to go. And just like in real life, such a powerful invention is destined to be used as a weapon of mass destruction.
https://preview.redd.it/kfw8147wqszc1.png?width=1455&format=png&auto=webp&s=8efc4ea46890259e83c06f199e186343cefbf682

The Ancient Weapon Uranus

The moment we got our first look at the Mother Flame in Chapter 1060, we had people theorize it was the yet-to-be revealed Ancient Weapon Uranus. I was a bit skeptical at first, but after the latest Chapter I think it would be hard to imagine a weapon more fitting to an “Ancient Weapon” moniker. The only question now is; which one is the weapon - the power source (flame) or the machine it powers? I’m pretty confident in what the answer is, but I want to walk you through my train of thoughts first.
https://preview.redd.it/kcgn4awyqszc1.png?width=1535&format=png&auto=webp&s=c568d08d67e94d3190c25ec48f93e3c36c50bd74
We know that the “Great Kingdom” was an ancient civilization which 900 years ago had a technology even more advanced than the one of today. We also know that the Twenty Kings/Kingdoms, that would eventually form the World Government of today, united in the common cause of destroying the said Kingdom by the end of the Void Century, 800 years ago. However, “just because you shot Jesse James, doesn’t make you Jesse James”; just because they defeated the Great Kingdom doesn’t mean they can properly utilize their technology. This is where Vegapunk comes in.
Vegapunk is the first and only person to successfully recreate the technology from the Great Kingdom. The Five Elders value his work so much that they are willing to compromise on many different occasions, most recently seen with Mars avoiding destroying Punk Records in the fear of losing The Mother Flame. If he were to destroy it, then there would be no guarantee that another of its kind could be created. That’s precisely why I believe that the Ancient Weapon that we know by the name of Uranus is the little flame we see inside the machine - the source of the machine’s power.
https://preview.redd.it/sprspftzqszc1.png?width=1031&format=png&auto=webp&s=62d8a3a741d0b3522e46a26d4b0d3024a2db2f9a

The Lunarians

“Luna” is a Latin word for "moon" and in fiction, the term "Lunarian" is sometimes used to describe the inhabitants of the moon, but despite all this, there has yet to be any indication that Lunarians actually originate from it. When Enel learns the history of the Sky People in his Cover Story (Enel's Great Space Operations), Lunarians cannot be found among the tribes, which possess distinctive wings on their backs as well, that came from the Moon.
Chapter 470 Cover Story - Lunarians are nowhere to be seen
Furthermore, Lunarian biology is rather unique when compared to that of Sky People, to put it lightly. They possess tremendous vitality and resilience to harm that borders on invulnerability, allowing them to thrive in any natural environment alongside the ability to generate and manipulate fire. In the world of One Piece, we have seen with the Fish-men that these intrinsic characteristics are born out of necessity, as Fish-men are said to possess ten times the physical strength of normal humans to survive the underwater pressure.
So why would Lunarians have such resilience, while the Sky People don't, if they indeed both originate from the Moon? Is it because Lunarians don’t originate from the Moon but rather from the Sun? Their night-invulnerability and fire manipulation could be a natural evolution born out of necessity to survive the harsh heat of the sun.
https://preview.redd.it/jkllhrg6rszc1.png?width=820&format=png&auto=webp&s=fdff3491c55de46c243e75b5e1b864caca4b5fe0
I know what you are thinking; even for One Piece it is silly for anyone to be able to survive the heat of 15 million degrees Celsius (!), but that is the heat of the Sun’s core. The heat of the Sun’s surface is “only” 5,500 degrees C which is around the heat of Earth’s core (5,200-6,000 degrees) and around 20 times hotter than the hottest lava. I can totally see Lunarians feasibly surviving that in a world where a normal person can just fly to the moon, breath in space, and not freeze to death in the process. Or maybe I’m thinking too big. Maybe they just came from a Planet that is very close to the Sun.
The Lunarians might have, at one point in time, lived on the Moon where they got their name from, but they originate from the Sun from where they brought a piece of it – the Mother Flame.
Chapter 472 Cover Story

Conclusion

One last myth I wanted to mention is about Prometheus. Prometheus is one of the Titans and a god of fire, best known for defying the Olympian gods by stealing fire from them and giving it to humanity in the form of technology, knowledge, and more generally, civilization. He is also sometimes presented as the father of Deucalion, the hero of the flood story, which I feel is quite relevant with the recent revelation of the One Piece’s world sinking. I do not know exactly who is meant to represent Prometheus but it’s very likely that the Mother Flame was stolen from the inhabitants of Great Kingdom, 800 years ago when the 20 Kings united to destroy it, and then finally used in the present to re-shape the world.
https://preview.redd.it/nby7prdbrszc1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=c6f9daef049e6ceb09e2136425f83a473dc2aae9
I do not think that it’s a coincidence that Vegapunk designed Seraphims after Lunarians and that Oda named them after the highest order of Angels in Christian angelology, nor do I think that the name of Chapter 1114 (Wings of Icarus) is just some random creative decision. Everything so far points toward the Lunarians being the ones that brought the Mother Flame from the Sun – and with it technology and knowledge – before having it stolen during the Void Century.

Tl;dr

The Mother Flame is a literal piece of the Sun, brought to Earth by Lunarians, and an analogy of a nuclear PoweWeapon. In order to create a source of endless energy for the world, Vegapunk harnessed the power of the flame, which was then used to power the Ancient Weapon Uranus.

If you enjoyed reading this make sure to give me a follow for more weekly/bi-weekly One Piece posts!

It’s such an “Oda thing” to make something called “Mother Flame” quite literally be a flame, and a tiny one at that, but beneath this seemingly straight-forward design lays a much, MUCH deeper meaning (which is also very much an Oda thing). I don’t think people realize just how intrinsically tied The Mother Flame and its creator Dr. Vegapunk are to the very source of life on Earth – the Sun.
https://preview.redd.it/dqbs6jkjenzc1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=9ece95312cc427327255cfb1917f803c1bb49edc

Dr. Vegapunk’s Origin

I’m sure that by now pretty much everyone is aware that Vegapunk is heavily based on a real life theoretical physicist, Albert Einstein. Old Vegapunk’s design - that of an old man with gray hair, a mustache and a large tongue - is pretty much a 1-to-1 adaptation of Einstein’s appearance, down to even the tongue.
https://preview.redd.it/uk9dwc8lenzc1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=bfbda836f11d09a86e4e6912667f1e6f581fe892
However, Vegapunk isn’t meant to be a simple 1-to-1 adaptation of Einstein, but rather an amalgamation of a bunch of real life scientists. The apple-like lid on Vegapunk’s head is a reference to the famous story of Sir Isaac Newton discovering gravity after an apple fell down on his head. Vegapunk’s goal of providing the world with free energy is something that Nikola Tesla always dreamed of doing. And yet, ironically, the ^(2nd) most important inspiration behind the character of Vegapunk is actually a not-so real scientist – the mythical inventor Daedalus.
https://preview.redd.it/an5iprjmenzc1.jpg?width=2362&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=c6f7b6fa1039f4d1647bdce0139d5eb0ae463663

The Myth of Daedalus and Icarus

The name of Chapter 1114, “The Wings of Icarus”, is a reference to the famous story of Daedalus) and Icarus. According to the Greek mythos, Daedalus was a mythical inventor who created wings made of feathers and wax to escape from Crete (an island) where he and his son, Icarus, were held captive. Icarus, in his arrogance, ignored his father's warnings and, wanting to reach Heaven, flew higher and higher until he got too close to the Sun. His wings melted, and he fell into the sea where he met his end. This is where the saying “he flew too close to the sun” comes from.
Interestingly, the myth of Daedalus and Icarus is quite similar to another Greek myth, the fall of Phaethon.
https://preview.redd.it/fs0x6qknenzc1.png?width=1600&format=png&auto=webp&s=d43ca944dd67d88faf9b9a1b5c560f3d9b176429
Phaethon was the son of Apollo, the Greek God of the sun and light who insisted on driving the chariot of the sun. Even though Apollo warned him time and time again that this would bring about his end, Phaethon refused to back down. Eventually, Phaethon got what he wanted, only to realize that he did not have what it takes to control the chariot’s horses and fell down to his death.
In the case of Vegapunk, “flying too close to the Sun” would be a metaphor for him studying the Poneglyphs and learning about the Void Century which is what eventually gets him killed. However, when Vegapunk talks about flying too close to the Sun the panel of Mother Flame appears on the page. I believe this is because Mother Flame is quite literally a piece of the Sun.
https://preview.redd.it/8vitxz8xenzc1.png?width=1466&format=png&auto=webp&s=afbb01b447e1b205fff7105e4dc2461b28643750

The Mother Flame

When talking about the real life scientist that inspired Vegapunk’s character, I purposefully left out one - J. Robert Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer was a theoretical physicist often called the “father of the atomic bomb” due to his contribution to its development.
https://preview.redd.it/4abdmt8yenzc1.png?width=879&format=png&auto=webp&s=d30b260f6b85a312b7e1988a8e476f71a1ee45da
The Atom(ic) bomb got its name due to the process known as “Nuclear Fission” in which an atom is split into smaller nuclei, releasing a VERY LARGE amount of (nuclear) energy (which then makes the bomb go “boom”). Another process from which nuclear energy is derived is “Nuclear Fusion.)”. Like its name suggests, fusion is the opposite process of fission in which two or more atomic nuclei combine to form one or more different atomic nuclei. It’s the process used in Thermonucleafusion weapons, second-generation nuclear weapon design, and, more importantly, nuclear fusion is how the Sun generates its energy.
A diagram of fusion in the Sun
What Vegapunk created wasn’t the flame we saw but rather the container (the “tank of water”) in which it is located. The flame - a piece of the sun - is the energy source whose power is then harvested and contained in the machine and which is then used to power the weapon known as the “Mother Flame”.
Mother Flame next to a basic diagram of a thermonuclear weapon
This would explain Vegapunk’s willingness to create such a thing. You see, nuclear power - besides generating A LOT of energy - is one of the cleanest, sustainable energy sources as it reduces carbon emissions. If Vegapunk wanted to create a power source to fuel the entire world which is sinking due to man-made causes, then harnessing the power of the sun is the way to go. And just like in real life, such a powerful invention is destined to be used as a weapon of mass destruction.
https://preview.redd.it/ghkevodsenzc1.png?width=1455&format=png&auto=webp&s=47842552db6a6be70fd91b13aecf57be5710b415

The Ancient Weapon Uranus

The moment we got our first look at the Mother Flame in Chapter 1060, we had people theorize it was the yet-to-be revealed Ancient Weapon Uranus. I was a bit skeptical at first, but after the latest Chapter I think it would be hard to imagine a weapon more fitting to an “Ancient Weapon” moniker. The only question now is; which one is the weapon - the power source (flame) or the machine it powers? I’m pretty confident in what the answer is, but I want to walk you through my train of thoughts first.
https://preview.redd.it/29pvnqkvenzc1.png?width=1535&format=png&auto=webp&s=2095217bd34961478ba1149140d6fc029fe6ed57
We know that the “Great Kingdom” was an ancient civilization which 900 years ago had a technology even more advanced than the one of today. We also know that the Twenty Kings/Kingdoms, that would eventually form the World Government of today, united in the common cause of destroying the said Kingdom by the end of the Void Century, 800 years ago. However, “just because you shot Jesse James, doesn’t make you Jesse James”; just because they defeated the Great Kingdom doesn’t mean they can properly utilize their technology. This is where Vegapunk comes in.
Vegapunk is the first and only person to successfully recreate the technology from the Great Kingdom. The Five Elders value his work so much that they are willing to compromise on many different occasions, most recently seen with Mars avoiding destroying Punk Records in the fear of losing The Mother Flame. If he were to destroy it, then there would be no guarantee that another of its kind could be created. That’s precisely why I believe that the Ancient Weapon that we know by the name of Uranus is the little flame we see inside the machine - the source of the machine’s power.
https://preview.redd.it/47bb31o0fnzc1.png?width=1031&format=png&auto=webp&s=4bf0d7e8b419df25cac2f2bafcdee108de1d3a32
I believe the machine is also the weapon but where you can build another machine, you cannot “build” another power source

The Lunarians

“Luna” is a Latin word for "moon" and in fiction, the term "Lunarian" is sometimes used to describe the inhabitants of the moon, but despite all this, there has yet to be any indication that Lunarians actually originate from it. When Enel learns the history of the Sky People in his Cover Story (Enel's Great Space Operations), Lunarians cannot be found among the tribes, which possess distinctive wings on their backs as well, that came from the Moon.
Lunarians are nowhere to be seen
Furthermore, Lunarian biology is rather unique when compared to that of Sky People, to put it lightly. They possess tremendous vitality and resilience to harm that borders on invulnerability, allowing them to thrive in any natural environment alongside the ability to generate and manipulate fire. In the world of One Piece, we have seen with the Fish-men that these intrinsic characteristics are born out of necessity, as Fish-men are said to possess ten times the physical strength of normal humans to survive the underwater pressure.
So why would Lunarians have such resilience, while the Sky People don't, if they indeed both originate from the Moon? The answer is because Lunarians don’t originate from the Moon; they actually originate from the Sun. Their night-invulnerability and fire manipulation is a natural evolution born out of necessity to survive the harsh heat of the sun.
https://preview.redd.it/aha1lj94fnzc1.png?width=820&format=png&auto=webp&s=7a43402b67fe7baafebaf49e38693afcd89f703b
I know what you are thinking; even for One Piece it is silly for anyone to be able to survive the heat of 15 million degrees Celsius (!), but that is the heat of the Sun’s core. The heat of the Sun’s surface is “only” 5,500 degrees C which is around the heat of Earth’s core (5,200-6,000 degrees) and around 20 times hotter than the hottest lava. I can totally see Lunarians feasibly surviving that in a world where a normal person can just fly to the moon, breath in space, and not freeze to death in the process.They might have, at one point in time, lived on the Moon where they got their name from, but they originate from the Sun from where they brought a piece of it – the Mother Flame.
https://preview.redd.it/ti5iv7kblnzc1.png?width=1031&format=png&auto=webp&s=cd235cf0ae447bcea68f4cbc4eb1b21fe0fff2a4

Conclusion

One last myth I wanted to mention is about Prometheus. Prometheus is one of the Titans and a god of fire, best known for defying the Olympian gods by stealing fire from them and giving it to humanity in the form of technology, knowledge, and more generally, civilization. He is also sometimes presented as the father of Deucalion, the hero of the flood story, which I feel is quite relevant with the recent revelation of the One Piece’s world sinking. I do not know exactly who is meant to represent Prometheus but it’s very likely that the Mother Flame was stolen from the inhabitants of Great Kingdom, 800 years ago when the 20 Kings united to destroy it, and then finally used in the present to re-shape the world.

I do not think that it’s a coincidence that Vegapunk designed Seraphims after Lunarians and that Oda named them after the highest order of Angels in Christian angelology, nor do I think that the name of Chapter 1114 (Wings of Icarus) is just some random creative decision. Including Vegapunk’s other namesake, “Stella”, which can be translated to “sun”, everything so far points toward the Lunarians being the ones that brought the Mother Flame from the Sun – and with it technology and knowledge – before having it stolen during the Void Century.

Tl;dr

The Mother Flame is a literal piece of the Sun, brought to Earth by Lunarians, and an analogy of a nuclear PoweWeapon. In order to create a source of endless energy for the world, Vegapunk harnessed the power of the flame, which was then used to power the Ancient Weapon Uranus.

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PART ONE THOUSAND AND EIGHT
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Sunday
We materialised in a shop-front alcove, with a solid concrete wall to my right and a panelled wooden display wall behind glass to my left.
“Keep going,” Rubin said in my ear.
Not sure why he was being so insistent, I nevertheless strode forward as if I knew where I was going, and in just a few steps, the presence of multiple lanes of New York City traffic swept over me. Four lanes, all facing the same way, meant we were on one of the main arterial streets like Fifth Ave or Park Ave. ‘Zara’, a clothes boutique on the other side of the street did nothing to narrow the field any for me.
Not that it mattered. My point with this deductive reasoning was that neither of those streets had curbside parking.
Yet, sure enough, Dad's SUV was on the other side of the sidewalk in the closest lane of traffic, waiting for the lights to change. “Get in, quick!” Rubin ordered.
This wouldn’t be the first time I jumped into an illegal ‘traffic-light-parked’ car, and I raced for the back door, swinging it open and diving inside just as the lights changed. The door ‘magically’ shut itself behind me as I straightened up in my seat and took in Kulon behind the wheel and Gerry in the seat to my right.
“Hey, Angel,” I said, leaning forward to give her a quick kiss. “Missed you.”
“How’d it go with—er—your uncle?” Gerry asked, struggling with the normality of me having met with her god.
“Wanna put your seatbelt on back there, Sam?” Kulon chuckled, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as we moved forward across the intersection.
“It went better than I thought,” I admitted, then grinned. “I even got a really cool old-school bomber jacket out of it.” I saw her cringe and giggled evilly. “And you can’t hate on it, because it was literally a present from God himself.”
She clenched her hands into loose fists and pressed the heels of her palms to her temple. “I-I can’t even…” she finally stammered, and my giggle morphed into a full-blown cackle.
“I’ll show you when we get home. I don’t think you’ll hate it. It’s really nice and super authentic.” I then turned my attention to Kulon. “And dude! That has got to be soooo handy,” I said, gesturing back to where I’d jumped in the car. I was blown away by how easily it would be to catch people like that, just by realm-stepping the second a car was held up at lights. No guesswork. Not even coordinates. Just knowing.
“It has its moments,” Kulon agreed. “So, are we heading home?”
“Yes, please. The guys want to go out to Angus’ place to play some more ball this afternoon, but if I don’t get some home time in with Gerry between now and then, I won’t be going anywhere.”
The trip back to the apartment was quick, with Rubin vanishing as fast as he appeared once we had the building in sight. And with him on hand to pull back the guys any time we needed them, Kulon and Quent both stayed with the car and drove away together once Gerry and I were inside.
Of course, my luck just wasn’t playing nice with me today, for I knew the second I set foot in the apartment and saw Dad rise purposefully from his chair just inside the living room that having fun-time with Gerry wasn’t in my immediate future.
“I need a word with you, Sam,” he said, stepping between the sofa and the coffee table to give Gerry access to the rest of the apartment (with Dad standing in the doorway, it was as if it had been walled off).
“Daaaad,” I moaned, not really caring at this point what he wanted. After the morning I’d had, I needed some real Robbie-food and an hour or four in bed with my girl … minimum!
“Now, Sam.” His tone changed when he looked at Gerry and added, “We won’t be long, sweetheart.”
Not that it mattered. His initial bark had taken all my attention, and I felt my heart clench in my chest, wondering what else I’d done wrong. Not even Uncle YHWH had yelled at me, and I’d accidentally screwed with a couple of his worshippers. I couldn’t think of anything to warrant that, and as I processed the possibilities and came up blank, I barely felt Geraldine’s kiss to my cheek. “I’ll go and do some light reading in the bedroom,” she said, slipping out of my arms and making her way past Dad with a nod.
A few seconds later, I heard our bedroom door open and close, and I looked at Dad like he’d kicked a puppy. “Was that really necessary?”
“Would I have done it if it wasn’t?” Dad countered, and I had to remember who I was talking to. Between my run-in with Tucker’s people and my conversation with Uncle YHWH, I was being bolder than I had any right to be.
I forced myself to relax. “Sorry. It’s been a rough morning already.” I rubbed my chest again because, contrary to what anyone says, being tasered sucked, even if I did heal from it almost instantly.
Dad immediately frowned. “What happened? I thought you were visiting Gerry’s father for breakfast.”
“We were … I mean we did.” So much else had happened, and I didn’t feel like going into all of it. And since he was standing to one side, I headed into the kitchen, dropping my shoulder low to avoid his half-hearted grab on my way through.
I stopped at the plate warmer and was miffed at its empty state. My next port of call was the divine box Robbie called Voila. I remembered him telling me how I had to know what was in there for it to work (that, and how Charlie had scared the crap out of him yesterday morning when she’d told him the box was empty), but this was also Robbie, and he always had what we wanted ready to go. I brought to mind the one thing that would tide me over until lunch. The same thing that had been missing from Tucker’s table.
Just as I’d hoped, when I lifted the lid, an egg-filled baguette with bacon and cheese was waiting for me on a single sandwich plate. “Ye-essss,” I hissed in victory, lifting out the plate and taking the biggest bite I could manage without choking myself. “Thank you, Robbie, wherever you are! I love you!” My words were utterly muffled, but he wasn’t here, so it didn’t matter.
“Their food not to your liking?” Dad asked with an amused smirk.
“The company was challenging,” I answered evasively once I’d chewed enough to swallow. I then went over to the fridge and dug out the jug of freshly squeezed mango juice that I could never get enough of. With both items in my hands now, I was happy.
“Don’t even,” Dad warned when I instinctually lifted the jug to my lips.
“Hmmh?” The sound would’ve been an innocent ‘huh’, except I’d clamped my lips closed like that had never been my plan and put the jug on the island on the way to get a cup. With the dishwasher closer, I opened the door and grabbed one of the glasses from the second shelf. I then nudged the door shut with my shin and slid into Boyd’s seat, dragging the rest of my prizes over to me.
“So, what’s the family crisis?” I asked, pouring myself a drink but keeping the jug within easy reach. Wow, I really do use that word a lot, don’t I? I took a deep swallow to clear my throat, sighed, and then returned for another huge bite of my baguette.
“My youngest brother, Barris, our Mystallian God of the Hunt, has learned about you.”
Oh, for frig’s sake! I lowered the baguette and sat back in Boyd’s chair, my full focus once more on Dad. “Okay,” I answered cautiously, torn between frustration and annoyance. The other word choice that sprang to mind was a sarcastic ‘really’, which would probably require someone picking out an urn for my remains.
Dad shook his head and raised one hand with flared fingers. “It’s nothing bad.” He then pointed at my plate. “Finish your sandwich first.”
My next mouthfuls were maybe a third of the first two, and I might as well have been eating tyre rubber for all the enjoyment I was getting out of it. “How much does he know about me?” I asked between bites.
Dad moved to stand beside me at the corner of the island. “He knows you’ve almost graduated college. He knows there was animosity between your mother and me that’s since been resolved, and he knows about the pregnancy now.”
Now, the baguette felt like a rock in my gut. “Great.”
He slid into Lucas’ seat and curled a hand around my forearm near the elbow, anchoring me in place. “Sam, I said it’s okay. He’s on our side.”
I squinted. A lot of people were making that claim lately and I wasn’t sure I believed it anymore. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Dad met my stare squarely, and I was always amazed at how easily he could do that. “He knows the dangers to your mother, so he’s going to run interference on the family for us until after the babies are born. Despite the fact that it’ll put him in the same crosshairs with the rest of our family as us when they find out he knew, he’s going to do it anyway. He only asks one thing in return.”
I barely restrained my eye-roll. “Of course he does.”
Dad’s face morphed into a dark scowl, and his grip tightened painfully. “You will show your uncle the respect he deserves,” he warned.
I dropped my eyes to his waist; so not up for this. “Yes, sir.”
Dad’s intake for breath was both loud and frustrated. He kicked the leg of the chair I was sitting on for good measure, and when my gaze snapped to his, he was pointing two fingers of his free hand at his own eyes. “That’s right, boy. Right here. Nowhere else. Not there … not there … not way over there.” He pointed to three random locations in the apartment before returning to their original spot before his eyes. “Right here. Always. You get me?”
For some reason, Dr Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham started rolling through my brain, and I was quite proud of myself that I didn’t smirk or even blink. “Yessir.”
He didn’t get any calmer. “Okay …” he finally said, after a few seconds that was—who knew how long for him if he internalised to settle down— “I know we’ve only touched lightly on this before, but I need you to lift your game before we meet with your uncle, starting with stripping the words ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ from your vocabulary. I know your stance on human manners, and I’ve accepted your decision and will support it when it comes up with the others. That said, even the humans hardly ever use those two servitude titles anymore, and you can’t afford to appear weak in front of our family. Okay?”
Dad was compromising. I knew the family wouldn’t agree with my use of manners, but Dad was willing to back that, and to me, it was the more important of the two. “I’ll try,” I said because I couldn’t say for sure if I’d succeed without premonition, and that one wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
Ha, I made a divine funny.
So, why aren’t I laughing?
Probably because I still hadn’t heard what Uncle Barris wanted in exchange for his cooperation. It couldn’t be my head on a pike, as neither of my parents would go for that. But what?
“He wants to meet you, Sam, at a destination of your choosing and he’s agreed not to come here looking for you so long as that request is met. He hasn’t even asked for this address.”
“He’s the god of hunting, Dad. Hunting me down would be a cakewalk for someone like him.”
“True, except he’s promised not to go there unless it’s an emergency. You’re his nephew, Sam. A nephew he knew nothing about until last night. All he wants to do is meet you, and given the circumstances, I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”
“How did he find out?” I asked instead of answering.
Dad’s expression soured. “Helen Portsmith. Apparently, she turned up at his gym last night with her usual spiel; only this time, your uncle put it together correctly and came looking for me for real answers. I told him about you and your mother. I told him our secrets.”
Something about the way he worded that… “As opposed to what?”
“I still haven’t mentioned Robbie or his connection to Yitzak. Nor have I mentioned the true gryps living with us, except for Tiacor, who’s there for your mother.”
I was starting to put this together. “Okay, so when we meet, no mention of Robbie as a cousin, or that he has a food innate, or that Yitzak and Collette know about him.” I got the feeling learning that we had true gryps in the household wouldn’t really amount to much, as they could be anywhere they wanted to be all over the world. It was their world as much as ours.
“Exactly.”
“What about Clefton and Nick? They’ve been here and met us too.”
“Mention them only if you want to get them into trouble for not outing you from the very beginning. Same with Nuncio.”
Well, that’s a hard ‘no’. “Maybe Cuschler?”
Dad scowled again. “There’s no bad blood between us anymore, right?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow warningly.
I sighed. Spoilsport. “Fine. But what about Fisk and the girls … and Najma?” It wasn’t that I’d forgotten my nephew, just that my brother and sisters rolled off the tongue first. “Danika’s been here, and Najma tracked me down at school before everyone else had met me. Even Fisk has popped in from time to time to touch base.”
“Barris knows they knew, and he understands why they’ve kept it quiet. Nothing’s going to happen until the reunion, and even then, maybe nothing if your mother still hasn’t given birth.”
I pushed my half-eaten baguette away and pressed my forehead to the island. “Everybody knows a little bit,” I griped. “How in the world am I meant to keep tabs on who knows what?”
Dad’s grin made me want to kick him the way he’d kicked my chair. “What do you think internalising is for? Remembering whatever we want is literally our jam.”
“I s’pose.” But combing through the details at every turn still seemed like an awful lot of effort, even if that process did seem instantaneous to everyone else. It wasn’t to us.
Dad reached past me and brought back my baguette. “Finish your sandwich. You can go as you are. Your uncle runs a gym downtown, so he’s not exactly at his best either.”
I stared at him in horror. “We’re going right now?”
“Why not now?”
Because I just got back from seeing Uncle YHWH! “I dunno. I mean, it’s too soon, don’t you think?”
I don’t know how else to describe it, but Dad’s expression turned … parental. “And when would a good time be for you with your hugely busy schedule now that school has wrapped up?” he asked like I was an idiot.
I gave a nervous, shrugging roll of my shoulders. “I understand there’s this get-together happening at the end of the year…”
I kinda expected the cuff to the back of my head and tried not to snicker when it happened.
“Don’t be a smartass. Finish your sandwich, and we’ll go. This won’t take long.”
With nothing else for it, I did as I was told, leaving the empty plate and cup on the sink since the dishwasher hadn’t been emptied. “I’m so glad I got a say in this…” I muttered quietly under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
I have no idea why I thought we’d at least use the front door to leave. Probably because most people did. But this was Dad, and we were going to meet his brother, and he clearly didn’t want me to have the chance of wriggling out of it.
So without warning, he slapped his hand on my right shoulder and shoved me forward, realm-stepping away with me as I stumbled to keep my footing.
[Next Chapter]
* * *
((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 < Back
My ears perked up at the shifting of branches outside of my view. A low growl echoed through the dense foliage that surrounded me. Who was there? What was there?
I had been wandering this forest for what felt like days, but in reality, was only a handful of hours. I was searching for anything, anywhere that could help me on my new journey. Minutes earlier, a hunger and thirst had gnawed at my insides, reminding me I no longer had the soul power to simply ignore hunger and thirst. I had chuckled to myself, recalling the moments my soul shattered and a singular piece ejected into this dimension, continuing my existence, but at a cost of most of my soul.
I instinctually willed power into my hand, shaping it into a sword, before sighing when was warned of using too much before I had finished the hilt.
SP: 14
Soul stage: Shattered
Soul power gain multi: 0.01X
I couldn’t risk losing the final shreds of soul power I had left. With a grimace, I stopped making the sword, willing the power back into my soul, and taking quick glances at my surroundings. Even without my supernatural abilities, I was still a talented fighter.
Is what I would have said if the creature charging at me wasn’t a wolf or boar shaped thing twice my height.
Diving for cover and out of the path of the creature, I booked it. Screw hunting, there was no way in hell I was taking down this freak of nature. Sprinting through the trees, I failed to account for the fact that the gigantic wolf-boar was, in fact, faster than me.
Battle instincts hadn’t disappeared with the rest of my soul, however, as I flattened myself again when the wolf was upon me. I was about to scramble to my feet again when I heard something yell behind me.
The language was unrecognisable, but I stayed down when I saw a flash of light from where the voice originated. A searing hot ball of flame flew over my head, nailing the wolf in the face, stunning it briefly. I looked up to see a man, hands coated in a bright purple light, chanting something. He pushed them forwards, bombarding the creature with a flurry of purple bolts.
The animal screams in agony before crumpling, and the man lands, breathing heavily. He turns to me, grinning and spoke in a language I could not interpret. Right. Isekai worlds, different languages. Duh.
Upon noticing my blank face, he stared expectantly.
I instinctively reached towards a universal translator skill I once had, before realising in that space was just… emptiness. I let out a sigh. Power loss was a steep price to pay for survival.
“Um… do you speak English?” I stuttered out.
The man returned my blank stare.
“Well, I guess that’s a no.” I picked myself off the ground and dusted myself off, checking for any cuts and major damage. A couple of bruises, throbbed, a painful reminder of my loss of healing abilities. When I turned my attention back to the man, he had begun a string of gestures.
First, he pointed to me, then made a mouth opening and mimed putting something in. I supposed it had been an offer of food. Odd, but I nodded in response. I suppose I shouldn’t question the culture of the world, and this man was offering me a free meal, which I wasn’t in the mood to turn down.
He turned, gesturing me to follow, which I did. He lead me back to a small cabin, deeper into the woods and lead me inside. It was quaint, like what someone would expect an abode in the middle of the forest to look like. A brick fireplace, a small bed, a bookshelf, it emanated the sense of rustic comfort.
He picked a book from the bookshelves, flipping it open to an empty page and leaving it on the table with what looked like a writing utensil. Then, he made more gestures. He pointed to me and wrote onto the book. A crude representation of a person, an arrow, and a chair.
Was he asking me to attack a chair with an arrow…?
Wait he wasn’t done. He added an extra symbol that showed the person sitting onto the chair. I mentally facepalmed. So much for universal imagery. I took a seat and pondered the exchange. Even though it seemed like images and their representations were universal, it became very apparent that even the simplest gestures could be interpreted incorrectly.
He put the book and the utensil down and went to the small kitchen area, which held a steaming pot. An aroma of a freshly made stew lingered in the air. Stereotypical, but beggars can’t be choosers.
While waiting for the man to finish making the food, I turned my attention to the fragmented state of my soul.
SP: 15
Soul stage: Shattered
Soul power gain multi: 0.01X
In the 10 minutes we had spent walking, my soul had accumulated a whole extra point of soul power. I groaned at the painfully slow speed and mulled over my options. Previously, I had upgraded my generation speed with my soul power. Spending soul power to make more soul power, I had likened it to an idle game. Alternatively, entering higher soul stages would provide a boost in soul power and reduce skill costs.
I tried upgrading my soul generation capacity first. I focused my meagre power inwards to expanding my soul, coaxing it to grow. It was… way easier than normal, which made sense I suppose, due to the small state of my soul. Soul power condensed and coagulated around my soul, making it bigger, stronger, giving it more capacity and power. Sure enough, when I checked my status…
Soul power gain multi: 0.02X
Doubled. Not bad, but still pitifully weak. I tried the next strategy. Soul stages were entered and exited based on user willpower, which I fortunately had a lot of training with. Even if my soul was lost, my mind wasn’t. I called upon the will that would have easily allowed me to enter soul stage 1 and…
Warning, soul cannot handle excess soul power.
A sharp pain pulled me out of entering the soul stage. I had apparently reached the willpower requirement, but my shattered soul couldn’t handle the influx of energy. I sighed, stuck as a shattered soul until I could find some way to repair it.
Fortunately, my downed spirit was cheered by the presence of the fresh soup placed in front of me. I gave the man a smile, which he returned before digging in. Despite the mouth watering aroma, a sliver of doubt remained. What if the food was unsanitary, or potentially poisonous? But the battle for hunger eventually won over, and I scooped spoonfuls of the ambrosia into my mouth.
After our meal, the man pulled the book to him, in which he drew a house and a question mark next to it. I took a gamble and guessed he was inquiring about my home. For all intents and purposes, I was homeless, which I illustrated by drawing a stick figure walking away from a home with a cross through it.
The man had a look of understanding, before getting up and rummaging through his cupboards, eventually withdrawing a roll of some sort of soft fabrics. He handed them to me, started drawing again. Drawing a sun half obscured by a line, most likely a horizon, followed by a house with an arrow pointing towards it. He emphasised his point by pointing towards me and pointing down towards his feet. He wanted me to… stay?
I hesitated. I had far overstayed my welcome, but then where else would I stay? This kind stranger offered a roof over my head when I had none, so I wouldn’t turn down his generosity. I nodded and looked for a place to lay down the linen… mattress… thing.
***
Stretching and yawning, I winced as the remnants of back pain and exhaustion faded. Blinking away the haze of sleep, I gathered myself. Memories of yesterday flooded in, and I sighed. Still stuck in this Isekai world, great. Checking my interface, I noticed I had accumulated a bit of SP to work with.
SP: 158
Soul stage: Shattered
Soul power gain: 0.02X
First things first, I would try repair my soul as much as possible. Focusing inwards once more and directing energy towards my soul, I felt it expand much more readily than yesterday. Newly formed solid structures held much of the power together as it coagulated into one. I exhaled and checked my status again.
SP: 58
Soul stage: Foundation
Soul power gain: 0.2X
Empty talent slots: 1
I smiled, noticing my soul stage had transcended from “shattered”. It still wasn’t in the realm of what I was used to, so it was probably still abysmally weak, but a 10 times increase in soul power was very welcome. Though one unfamiliar feature caught my attention. Talent slots? What the hell were those?
The user expresses a strong desire to understand. Filling talent slot
The question vanished as soon it was arose, but a new addition took its place.
SP: 58
Soul stage: Foundation
Soul power gain: 0.2X
Talents:
Worldly information matrix
A subconscious echo popped into my mind as I read.
Talents were permanent emplacements within one’s soul that greatly boosts one specific aspect about the person. Whether it be mana regeneration, or a group of or even just one spell, it will strengthen that aspect significantly. Talent slots are unlocked upon the growth of one’s soul.
How the hell did I know that?
Before I could ponder any longer, shuffling was heard next to me, and the man sat up and stretched.
“Mmm, what’s the time…?” He muttered. His voice was deep, gruff, yet friendly and had an edge of kindness to it.
I looked around for some sort of time implement, and upon finding one, responded, “I don’t know how to read your clocks.” However, the words left my mouth in a language I never knew I could speak. We locked eyes in disbelief, and both made an exclamation of surprise.
“What the… I thought you couldn’t speak our tongue!”
“I didn’t know I could understand your language!” I fumbled over the unfamiliar words in my mouth. But whatever changed, it allowed me to speak this new dialect.
Gathering ourselves after the recent discovery, he sat me at the table as he poured me some form of hot beverage.
“So you can understand me now. Excellent! Now, who are you truly?”
“I am…” I hesitated. I searched my past, urging it to provide me my true identity. I sighed, knowing that my true name was lost to time. Instead I provided the name bestowed upon me by those I protected, by the world I had left behind. “I am Custos. The guardian of Earth.”
“I see. A pleasure to meet you Custos, I am Orion.” He chuckles, “I am no guardian unfortunately, just a humble hermit alone in these woods. It’s not common I get visitors. I have never heard of this ‘Earth’. Would you please enlighten me”
I hesitated once more. These people did not seem to know about interstellar travel, let alone interdimensional. “It’s a land from far, far away.”
He nodded, and sipped from his cup, urging me to do the same. “That explains why you didn’t know our tongue. Speaking of, how did you manage to learn our tongue so quickly? No translation spells around here, I assure you.”
“Apparently I used a talent slot to unlock a-“
The sound of a cup clattering onto the table cut me off. “You used a talent slot for it?! Why?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are they that valuable?”
The man gave me an exasperated look. “Valuable? They’re priceless! Enhance magic, grant infinite strength, and you chose being bilingual.”
“Ah I see. Is this permanent?”
The man shook his head. “Every human has 5 talent slots. Permanent, unchangeable, and once a talent has been assigned there is no way of removing it.”
I pondered his statement. It seemed to conflict with the information my own talent provided me, but I shook it off, disregarding it for another time.
“Unfortunate,” I said, taking a sip from my own cup. It tasted like a mocha, but less strong. “You mentioned you know spells? Are you some sort of wizard?”
He chuckled, “Not really, the mages are really up there in terms of skill. I’m just someone who wanted a bit of peace and quiet and learned a bit of magic along the way. This book has been my magical bible.” He stood and fetched another book from his bookshelf, opening it in front of me.
The words shuffled and morphed into a language I could understand, courtesy of my talent, as I read through it. It contained a comprehensive list of spells, alongside Orion’s notes and diagrams, scrawled over the pages.
“Interesting.” I murmured, a spark of curiosity igniting within me. “Well, best I take my leave. I’ve far overstayed my welcome.”
“Friend, no need to worry about that. You may stay as long as you like. Especially if you haven’t a place of your own.”
This man kindness bordered on naivety, but at least I didn’t have to worry about dying for now.

5 days into my treatment! I think things are going well. I thought I’d share more about my case and hopefully receive some help with questions. :)
”Diagnosis”: I have relatively straight front teeth, the only visible issues are mild crowding and a rotated maxillary right lateral incisor, but what caused me to seek treatment is my major posterior crossbite and narrow upper arch. I have really bad migraines, teeth grinding, tooth decay (despite good hygiene), mismatched upper and lower midlines and I’m always biting the inside of my cheek and creating canker sores. These can all be traced back to the crossbite.
Finances: I did a lot of research and seeing that my insurance doesn’t cover any orthodontics for individuals over 21, I may have gone overboard with my research. I got quotes from 5 providers, they ranged from $4.5K to $7K. 4 providers said 12-16 months, 1 said 10-12 months. Luckily enough, the provider that quoted $4.5K (and 10-12 months) also did my husband’s treatment when he was a kid, so they gave me a $500 family discount, a $200 discount for paying up front and I paid for the treatment with my HSA, so counting the tax refund on the HSA contribution I made for the treatment, I paid $3K total.
Treatment Length: I only bring up finances because I was quoted 10-12 months for treatment by my provider. When I show up to begin treatment, I asked how many sets I will have, and he said he expects that this set (19 aligners, 1 week each) will do the job. He said during the consultation that he would continue treatment until I was happy, but has anyone else been over-quoted on time (and price!) and then got them out way earlier than expected? This provider is an orthodontist with great reviews, since I know that will probably come up.
Attachments: All the aligner models I saw when going through consultations had 4-6 attachments on them. When I went in for install, I was shocked to see a diagram of 13 (!!) attachments they were going to install. Maybe I’m just overreacting but that seems like a lot. Did anyone else have that many?
Conveniences: From the recommendation of this subreddit, I purchased an ultrasonic cleaner and in combination with efferdent tablets, I think has done a good job of maintaining the aligners. I also purchased a pul tool which has kinda been helpful but kinda not (I’ll get to that in a second). I wanted to make sure the pul tool fit in the aligner case so I purchased the pul case as well. I also got colgate wisps since I’m super paranoid about putting the aligners in with unclean teeth and I’m able to fit my aligners, my pul tool and a wisp all in the pul case (I see a lot of people talk about struggling to fit everything in their invisalign case, I’d highly recommend switching to the pul case). Am I missing any other things that make life with aligners more convenient?
Weird things??: Back to the pul tool topic - I‘m pretty competent with getting my aligners out with my fingers but I know the pul tool is more sanitary and exact. However, no matter how I take them out (fingers/pul tool) my aligners always gets stuck on my front teeth where I have a group of 7 teeth that all have attachments. Does anyone else experience this? Any tips on how to get the aligners off easily in that situation? I also discovered today that I have this very prominent white line of what looks like dead skin on the inside of my mouth spanning from the back of my cheek to the bottom of my lip. I found that this is called “linea alba”. I’m guessing it’s from my grinding/clenching/suction. Any tips on how to prevent the lines alba/grinding/clenching/suction? Obviously I need to bring all these “weird things” up to my orthodontist and I definitely will, I just don’t want to keep bothering him - I already had to go in the day after my aligners were installed because my trays cut my tongue up and I had to get them smoothed out. Just hoping to get some feedback before going in and bombarding him with a million questions.
Post-Treatment Finishes: Last question, I’ve seen people talk about buffing chips/bonding after treatment. If people are comfortable sharing, what was the cost of that? It’s something I’m definitely interested in and need to know what to budget.
Thank you!

So for a little backstory - Im picking up my first high-end espresso machine tomorrow and couldn’t be more excited. Ive been using a $100 DeLonghi for years now.
I’ve been traveling all around my city going to supposedly the best coffee shops/roasters in town to try to find a good bean to start with.
Every time, I order a double shot of espresso, I watch them grind, distribute, tamp. They serve it to me on a fancy plate with a glass of sparkling water. I take a sip, and BAM, my tongue is burning and my cheeks pucker. Every shot tastes like delicious coffee mixed with acid.
I’ve been to 5 shops now and they’ve all tasted, in my opinion, sour. Am I going crazy or are all coffee shops pulling under extracted shots? I’ve talked to them about their roasts (because I’m trying to find a damn roast I like) and it’s not just light roasts, a few of them used medium roasts.
Am I just used to watered down DeLonghi espresso and my tastebuds are off? Or is it really hard to dial in a good shot and i’ve yet to catch a barista on a good day?
Either way, I’m excited to get my machine tomorrow and try to dial in a shot that doesn’t burn my tongue off.

30F here with dentures for 1 year or so. I used to handle all spices, salt down to your chili spices. As of 6 months ago it feels like anything with salt feels like it's cutting my tongue (the salt) Also sauces thay normally should not be spicy, for example barbecue sauce, now all of a sudden I can barely eat because my tongue feels like it's burning. When I look at my tongue it has 3 cracks on in the center and towards the tip it has these small bumps im assuming is my tastebuds. My stomach does not get irritated after eating food that I can tell, I also sometimes get severe heartburn that isn't persistent with the tongue. I also regularly use cigarettes if that also helps.

“Get the fuck out of my house with this ‘ old country’ shit Sylvia, I’m serious. “ I hear my dad say from the kitchen downstairs.
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.
I decided to update everyone
https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/ypogh9ZYrZ

First Chapter Previous Chapter
We sat at the counter of Saxon House, a tavern built like a Norse dining hall. It had one long table under an angled roof, propped up by unstripped tree trunks. The bar was to the side, carved from an oak trunk that looked like it had been left where it fell, and the bar around it. Orange LEDs shimmered at us from behind the counter, while everywhere else was bathed in the flames of wooden torches and the blinking warmth of slot machines. Erik and I sipped bitter beer from long, skinny horns that came with plastic stands.
It was early in the evening, and we were the only customers. A jute box screamed with the aggressive vocals of a metal cover of an old Germanic folk song, whose title roughly translated, "Crows Will Feast on Your Eyes While I Dance In Your Entrails." It was strange to hear it in a bar, as it typically only played at weddings.
"What's up?" I said. We were on tall stools, leaning into each other. I'd forgotten how easy Erik was to be around. I wasn't certain he had a sexuality. He never dated and didn't seem to want to. Girls usually forgot he was there, so we said things we wouldn't normally say around guys. He knew our menstrual cycles better than we did. He once gave me a couple of chocolate bars. He wouldn't say why, but later in the day my period started. It was a Ven Diagram of creepy and sweet.
We sat on stools facing each other, our knees touching. Erik wore the same brown and white jacket he wore all through high school, emblazoned with raised letters spelling "Barbarians," our football team. He didn't play sports but was friends with every athlete. "A lot. But I want to hear about you. You're carrying on with the investigative journalism."
"Yeah, got the job straight out of high school. My social studies teacher, Mrs. Vanheim, brought me to her class after school and introduced me to this guy."
"This guy?" We clinked horns and drank. The beer was cheap and tasted like it was fermented inside a yak with flesh eating disease.
"Yeah, never met him. Bright red hair like you but, in a massive fro." I held my hands over my head to demonstrate the girth of the man's hair. "He spoke like he'd just got off the boat from Norway, 'I vill mak you an offeer over dineer, hey?' He had a brief case full of articles I wrote for the school paper. He wanted me at Midgard's only newspaper."
"Who was he?"
"You know," I said, "I never found out." I spilled some beer on my sleeve and sucked it out.
Erik tilted his head. "You didn't ask?"
I picked some lint off my tongue. "I'm sure I have it written somewhere." His questions sparked a grinding feeling in my stomach and I didn't know why. "I told him I had two questions. 'First, when do I start? And second, 'We have a newspaper?"
"Smooth."
"Like drinking broken glass." I patted his knee. "He wasn't put off. He said I was perfect. I assumed I was going to intern. He brought me to the office, the one you've seen. It looked like that when I first got there."
"Exactly like that?"
I raised my hands in a shrug. "It might have looked slightly less lived in."
"It looks lived in by racoons in the before portion of a hoarding show."
"Yeah well the cleaning lady has been busy putting out a paper."
"So what happened?" Erik's fingers were manicured and smooth.
"When he brought me to the office, I expected him to introduce me to my new coworkers. Instead, he handed me the key and started to leave. I'm like, 'What?' I had to block the door to keep him in. 'What do I do? Who's my boss?'"
"He said, 'You're de boss. Put out a pappeer.' Sometimes tears of terror speak louder than words, and once my panic attack passed, he showed me the pink binder that told me how to use the layout programs and how to send the paper to press."
"He just put an eighteen-year-old in charge of a newspaper?"
"Wild, right? Two years and going strong."
I hoped for some giggle, but nothing. Erik didn't smile much now. This is not the same kid who wore nothing but a pink speedo under his grad robes.
"How does it work? The paper."
"Pretty simple. I gather the stories in the early part of the day, lay it all out and send it to press. Money goes into my account every two weeks."
"Who prints it? Who delivers it?"
"Don't know. I hit send and the next morning, the paper's on the stands."
Erik leaned on his elbow, watching me. "How often does this man come around?"
"Haven't seen him since." Erik looked at me like I told him I gave my life savings to a Nigerian prince I'd met by email. I didn't ask anything about this man or this job. Was I a bad reporter?
"Was he older? Younger?"
"He was... it was hard to tell. I'd say he was between twenty and sixty."
"Right."
"Is that weird?"
Erik shook his head. "Less than you'd think. Go on."
Erik pulled a palm-sized rectangular vape from his jacket pocket. His green eyes darted around, then he took a hit. He passed it to me. "A fully working newspaper that had never had a single person working there. You must have had some questions."
"At first, yeah." He passed me the vape. I didn't smoke, so I put it to my mouth and pretended, and handed it back. "He told me my salary, which, straight out of high school, seemed like a lot, but now... let's just say that you're paying for these drinks. But at the time, I was too scared of messing it up." This was a lie, because I couldn't explain why I didn't ask this man anything.
"Do you have any way of reaching him?"
"Why? You want to talk to him?" I moved my knees away, crossing them.
"No," he said. "It just seems, strange."
I recoiled for a moment into my thoughts. I am a bad reporter. "I have an email address," I quickly said. "He said if there is anything I can't handle, I can reach him there any time of day. The binder has a list of codes for different types of emergencies."
"Codes?"
"It's all in emojis."
"Have you ever used it?"
"Nope. Never needed it." I realized I'd been slipping into work habits. Two years of trying to get politicians to admit things made it so that conversations always had a winner or a loser. I'd been losing. "Why are you so interested?"
Erik's horn was almost empty. He gestured at our bearded bartender, who refilled them from a wooden barrel. "Have you ever turned your bloodhound nose inward?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have you ever thought of looking into who your boss is, who owns the paper, or how the papers are printed or distributed?"
Dammit. Back to this. I shifted on my wooden stool. My bum felt itchy on the hard surface. "Well, ah..."
"It never occurred to you, has it?" His tone softened. He almost sounded sad.
"I... no. I've never thought about looking into it."
"Stange, isn't it." Erik leaned in. He glanced at the bartender, and when he was satisfied the man was too far to hear, he said quiet enough I could only just hear him over the music, "You're this investigative journalist who never stops asking questions and digging for the truth, yet you have no questions about this situation."
"So you admit I'm a good reporter."
He cocked his head. "I never said you weren't."
"Right, sorry." I'd forgotten that part of the conversation was in my head.
"You never thought of trying to find out more about your boss?" When did sweet little Erik become a lawyer?
"I guess not." I took a long sip, to give myself time to think. "I was young, I thought that's just how it goes."
A group of barely legal teens came into the bar. Erik watched them out of the corner of his eyes until they took a seat at the far end of the table. "It's not just you. It's everyone. But once you start asking questions, it's hard to stop."
"What do you mean?"
"What if..." His voice lowered. "...you're missing the biggest story? By design."
"Whose design?"
Erik swiveled and placed his elbows on the counter and he hunched over.
I put my hand on his back. "What's this about, Erik?"
His head cranked and waved me to come close. "This will seem like a weird question. What is the sun?"
"Is this an astronomy lesson?"
"Just answer."
"The sun," I said, "is a giant ball of gas burning in space."
"Right," he said. "We'll both need more drinks for this." He waved at the bartender and waited for us to get our horns refilled. He took a long sip. "There's this picture. You show it to one person and they say it's a duck. You show it to another person, they see a rabbit. So, if you saw a duck first, you can't see the rabbit. But stare at the picture long enough, squint your eyes, eventually the rabbit appears."
I nodded. "Yeah, there's a lot of those kinds of pictures. Optical illusions."
"Here's the weird thing about them: you can only ever see a duck or a rabbit, but never both at once. Try and see both a duck and a rabbit at the same time, you can't. Your brain goes back and forth."
"Sure, that's true, though I never thought about it. This is the big secret that tortures you?"
"No." He made sure the bartender wasn't watching and put his fist to his mouth and puffed on his vape. "Didn't we learn in Kids Grove that the sun is Sol driving his horses and chariot across the sky, being chased by the wolf, Skoll?"
"Yes," I agreed. "It's Sol."
"You're saying that the sun is a man in the sky?"
"A god, but yeah."
"Which is it? Is it a gas giant or a god on a chariot?"
"Well, it's..." My head started feeling cloudy. The beer didn't usually hit me this fast. "It's Sol."
"So it's not a fireball in space." His eyes were narrowed. Mine blurred.
"It's a fireball in space." I felt sleepy. It was hard to think.
"It's the duck rabbit all over again. You feel that weird fog that comes into your head when you try to hold both thoughts? I believe it's a hunk of burning gas, then I believe it's a dude in a chariot, but I never believe both at once."
"I've never thought of it." I put my horn into its stand and crossed my arms over my stomach. I shook my head to try to throw off the drowsiness.
"It's like this everywhere. In the Greek Quarter, it's the same thing, only instead of Sol, they have a god named Helios, who wears a golden crown, also driving a chariot."
"Well that's just bad theology."
"In the Egyptian District, it's a guy named Ra sailing his boat through the heavens." He flattened his hand and arched it over him.
I laughed at the image. "That's ridiculous. How would they get a boat into the sky? It's a chariot."
"They could use a catapult. The point is, they all have the duck/rabbit problem."
I tried to hold both thoughts at once. The sun is a god. The sun is burning gas. My head had two worlds and I could jump back and forth between them but I couldn't stand in one and look through the door to the other.
"Why," I said, picking up my horn of beer and watching the bubbles push to the surface, "why have I never thought about this?"
He seemed to relax. He even smiled. "That's the most important question. I'd like you to meet someone."
"Who?"
"He's not from around here."
"Where's he from?"
"I'd rather not say. I'd just like to take you there." He finished his beer.
"Out of Midgard? To another borough?"
"Yeah."
"That's dangerous." I pictured knife wielding generic thugs lining up at the subway to take turns robbing people as they got off the train. "I know what those other neighborhoods are like."
"Do you? How do you know?" He tilted his head back and stared down his nose.
"Well, ah, that is..."
"Exactly. Your parents."
"Not just them."
"Who else?"
"Their friends."
Erik chuckled. "That's the first thing you need to accept. Our parents are all hiding something from us."
"Hiding what?"
"Everything. Come with me and I'll show you." He tugged on my arm. He lowered his head to look upwards into my eyes. "Please, Yvonne."
"Alright. When?"
"Now."
"Now?"
"Right now." He stood up, watching me. I chugged my beer, ordered a shot, downed that, and then forced myself to my feet.
"Alright," I said.

i had too many pressures and health issues that contributed to it the pressures disconnected me from myself and what i wanted ot do because i was constnatly forcing myself to do things i didnt want to do and i felt like i was losing sense of self. before i'd recall memories and like meditate myself into a coherent sense of self and bc of the pressure it was like i was getting fragmented i was blamed for my health issues, gaslit that they weren't real, doctors also didnt know what was causing them, besides being blamed and judged for my intuition and interests. i burnt out but was forced to keep going despite it, my health issues worsening, also i had to kinda fight to do what i needed to do for my health. id imagine bad situations and possibilities that i could encounter and how to act in them and solve them, including how to talk myself out of potential harassment and beatings. this would be related to masking and bc of all the pressures while being gaslit, over time my sense of self was getting so distorted bc i was filling my mind with what would other people think and their perspectives, i became more of a mask than an actual person. emotions were becoming more of something to perform to appease and entertain others, which also took a lot of strain esp trying to reconcile it with my genuine emotions and twist them around it, and esp bc i was trying to manipulate my micro body language. i forced myself to exercise when i shouldnt have - various reasons i shouldnt have, and it actually contributed to my healt issues. i felt dizzy when doing push ups like smth was weighing on my brain but i forced myself to keep going despite it until one time i felt like smth hit me in the head been prone to boredom since a kid, maybe especially my circumstances and when i wouldnt be able to do smth i found enough meaning and or stimulation the boredom id feel like it would start killing me and or turn into rage. im also HSP + OCD and good memory and my health sisues or whatever would be things related to me being in pain and not healing as fast as id like too long and the pain would distract me from enjoying my life and doing what i need or want to do so id feel like i was rotting, kinda dumb why i have to explain pain is bad, id also feel like smth was taken out of me somehow, and was concerend any setbacks i'd have from pain could affect me long term, say smth bad happens to me again and bc of the previous pain holding me back im less developed and less able to handle and maintain myself thus sink even further back. and i'd feel like i'd need to rebuild my sense of self again after traumatic events which would take time and effort. id be surprised at how much rage and force people would use about mundane problems or non problems, bias problems, esp bc i was ofc conscious that i can be biased and try to think first and hold my rage back anyway. reminds me of genuinely entitled toddlers who think the world revolves around their emotions, and people as now strong men, who instead of having self control, aggrandize their entitlement and rage. this itself enraged me, besides mayhbe absorbing it from them, bc those people are fundamentally telling you that they, their needs and thoughts are fundamentally more important than yours and you, and they are deserving and you are not. up to that point in sevearl cases i'd already like for instance noticed if i i forced myself to exercise it would build up rage that can be hard to control, and i thought only a man who has enough self control and awareness and intelligence and perception should be that strong to avoid mistreating others. yet most strong men i found were exactly the opposite and sometimes narcissistically humble bragging about being nice or doing something for someone sometimes, again reminding me of a toddler who never got validation and now feel like they're something by getting a fake sense of respect. or maybe they grew up with parents who were indulging their selfish entitlement instead of reprimanding them when needed. ive also watched vlogs where men have said they learned they could produce a lot of force if they just let themselves get angry that they learned as kids and just started abusing it becuase it made them feel powerful. the only INFJ i knew irl was prolly borderline and the other possible one must have had some issue bc he somehow thought being kinda early-mid teenager he figured his relationship would last for life and broke his heart when it didn't, and it surprised me bc at the time i thought "why are people at this age thinking that they love someone when they barely know anything, barely know themselves and anyone else, esp with the interacitons ive seen of them??" i kept reading toxic things on the internet but also hearing them on the irl including mysognisitic, victim blaming, disabled blaming, drug addict blaming, homeless blaming, trauma blaming, basically everything that's narcissism and pride against vulnerable grups and arguing with it in my mind non stop overclocking, mirroring and maybe absorbing them even, bc id also try too argue from their standpoint to argue them to my point, while wanting to avoid conflict. bc of health issues + the stress i started developing hyperinsomnia, not knowing what it was too. it was rotting my brain to try to keep myself awake and i was losing my sense of self and reality further. during psychopathy the negative thoughts were possessing me and replacing me so much instead of thinking about the negative thoughts and aruging with them, they were posessing me/all i had, like i had them and nothing else, also i wasl osing memories and vocabulary (both related to ASPD (worse verbal intellignce + a lot of ppl say they start losing memories when they figured they could block how they feel), ways of expression. i was trying to on purpose develop Se, physical strength and motor coordination, awareness of environment by hearing and sight, which contributed to people's words and what i saw written getting direcrtly imprinted on my brain and mind and echoing in them bc of how much i was repeating it to argue and be aware. dogs, drunkards and my dad screaming randomly during night, would wake me up and keep me up for hours, bc of my hypersensitivity i was developing and how anxious my mind was but also bc of other health issues that contributed to hyperinsomnia. i was also bulding up aggression in me to be able to defend myself bc of lacking force in my body. for some reason i started losing fine motor coordination, my drawing lines were shaky and i couldnt control them much anymore, iwas driving the pen/cil too hard down and couldnt control it, i also started physically breaking things on accident bc of how hard my grip was which was also caused by muscle tension and strain. i saw about an autistic INTJ who became a psychopath when in his late teens he was assaulted and maced outside his eyes covered in blood while getting hit in the face and he said he started seeing despite being blinded (during the fight not like blind blind) and won, he became a psychopath and assaulted a random person at one point for no reason and started using weed to calm himself down. but hes higher IQ than me, doesnt have my health issues and is much more physically fit, so i was concerend if this happenned to me even if i won i wouldnt be able to function at all afterwards. well for me the violent urges were initially and i wanted them to be towards particular people, but for some reason bc i was losing my sense of self and reality and memory access walled off, my urges were not towards any person or animal in particular, i was just sizing up everything and had thoughts about what it would be like to attack them cuz i didnt feel real, i had some will or sense of self resisting it and had to try very hard to resist it all, it s hard to explain what happens in that kind of fragmented mind. like my urges i didnt feel like were mine but "I" was idsappearing and had to fight to restrict them bc it wasnt waht i wanted but how can i want anything if "I" am not. at some point i became so exhausted i became desperate and invited God into my body and it somehow made me manic and like wntin to kill my parents so i had to restrain my own body and translate myself out of that mindset which are very few words to describe how arduous and scary that was. they wanted to kick me out or make me get a job or go to uni but they were gaslighting me about my health issues and my life was getting so bad i didnt know how to function anymore i started getting aggressive towards them in expression i was also forced to explain myself at some points about vulnerable things, i didnt like how they pushed me around and controlled my life thne violated my emotions and health. i started looking at muscle anatomy diagrams and trying to understand how fvareity and small muscles worked in the face head neck tongue and eyes to recalibrate my use of them bc they were causing tension and hyperinsomnia and other healht issues including psychopathy, and i was wathcing people's expression in reality and on videos trying to undertand how they use their muscles, what thoughts they have and trying to imaggine them in my brain and copy muscle activations + use that in creative ways to generate my own emotions relative to theirs and start being able to generate a self that's stronger and can contrl my violent urges better over time. i didnt understand other people or myself in regards to them and often thought maybe im wrong, why am i contradicting so much of what everyone else does, is the problem with me, esp bc i keep getting told if most ppl disagree with me then maybe im the problem (no turns out a lot of the time they were and actually developing narcissism is related to losing your own sense of self identiy and integrity to comply with insane external demands (while i dont pretend to be perfect, and i think some narcs are imposing demands on themselves out of insecurity)). i learned to guess psychopaths, autism, and other personality disorders and personality tpyes by facial and body structure, muscle function and activity, which is why different people hgave different mannerisms and postures, expressions and even voice related to personality, personality types disorders and illnesses. warning, to have proper control of myself my identitty and my emotions and be stable, it can be difficult if your not properly wired and ur body isnt properly aligned bc i became hypersensitive/hypermirroring of other people that i'd get lost in them and their isssues and their mindsets too, ironically by trying to mirror them to wake up and wire my own emotions and personality, this is why im saying proceed with caution and i hope u find better ways and wiring to deal with your issues than me, bc i dont want to misguide someone into getting lost. itengrity of mind seems to be related to integrity of body. the reason i felt like i lost smth significant and part of my thought processes, when doing push ups, was bc i had somehow forcefully misaligned my bones to compress parts of my brain and blood vessels in my brain that made it feel like headachess, dizziness, nausea and darkness, and i was attempting to shift my bones, release and rebuild my brain while reamining in control. other potential issues like cervical instability from being hit, has been already scientifically correlated to depression and cluster B personality disorders (i can link you a youtube vid about it), and also cavities bc they can cause nerve damage and even brain infection, which may mess up the muscles and alignment in your body by affecting the brain but also direct,y the muscles and whatever's happenign around your teeth and jaws to shift you out of balance, and this is related to poverty and criminals becoming irritable and low IQ. how is a psychopath impulsive yet planning and calculated simultaneously? for me part of that aws an impulse to like get satisfaction right, and bco f hwo i was stuck the most basic way to do it was materialistically so i concluded it would invole joining a comp0any and manipulating my way towards the top, while it was also clear that the top must be full of sociopaths and narcissists who have no qualms about exploiting others and ive found info about that + socioaths who did the exact thing i was thinking of doing, except ofc i didnt want to actually ruin random people's lives, but it was hard to resist and fight against that too. so i was stuck in that kind of mindset, constantly having some extreme urges yet thinking of ways to avoid doing the wrong thing, be it bc im trying to restrain myself or bc im trying to achieve smth and if i go to prison or ruin my reputation or whatever i will not get what i want. even if its a long term goal its still an impulse in that theres a force driving you to it and holding you stuck/that is the only thing you see. for example when you have many feelings and see many things, you can think about them in variety and make more "conscious" choices and psychopathy is also kinda related to the unconscious. well i also concluded if i wanted to avoid terrible things, while not getting kicked out on the street or forced through abusive circumstances anymore, whijle i also have to care for other people, i needed magico r spirituality at this point, and i was asking the universe for answers if there was smth else, cuz i wasnt sure at that point, but i was getting more and more answers and started getting into spirituality and wichcraft. eventually i also concluded that the conspiracy theories are real because i also met a lot of psychos who were using wichcraft spirituality and esoterics + those rich explotative sociopaths, and bc i started understanding the symbols and signs, i started seeing them everywhere and drawing more connections and information. eventually i also started seeing patterns suggesting that witchcarft is evil + other sins and the spirituality we are taught is false/deceptive (tho that was kinda clear to me in ge beginning, i just thought ppl were kinda foolish and mistaking the information, a lot of it is actually also used to manipulate and deceive you and fake on purpose) and bc of bad things happening one on top of the other that i related to sins and witchcraft i became christian.

“Get the fuck out of my house with this ‘ old country’ shit Sylvia, I’m serious. “ I hear my dad say from the kitchen downstairs.
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.
I decided to let everyone know how things are going.
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/s/TQJpCXsGMK

“Get the fuck out of my house with this ‘ old country’ shit Sylvia, I’m serious. “ I hear my dad say from the kitchen downstairs.
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.

Original prompt here.
The summoning had been a success.
Whimpering and snarling, the daemonic entity corporealized onto the cold dark cellar floor. Smoke and steam curled from its incandescent-white form. It lay, curled in a fetal position on the cobblestones, surrounded by chalked circles and esoteric runes.
Nathun knelt, panting. The summoning had been much harder than anticipated. The ancient tattered book spread on the floor in front of him was smoldering at the edges, its runic inscriptions and diagrams flaring wildly with sick, ethereal light.
He looked up and regarded the daemon in front of him. It was a considerable effort not to be ill just at the sight of the wretch. With a long drawn breath, he prepared himself for the next part of the ritual. He stripped his tunic and coat off, baring his chest to the frigid air of the cellar.
With a brush and ink, he daubed symbols across his chest, down his arms and around his wrists. Finally, he marked the warding symbols on his cheeks, the long tendrils of the runes snaking across his lips and jaw, and trailing down his neck.
Satisfied, Nathun walked to the Daemon and kicked the weakened being over. He repeated his work there, until both the summoned and summoner bore exact replicas of the required markings. As a final precaution, he retrieved five segments of pitted iron chains, each affixed with a manacle. With these, he bound the daemon by the wrists, ankles, and neck, to the walls and roof of the stone cellar. On each segment, inscribed in silver were further runes of shackling power.
The whimpering daemon, weakened and catatonic after the trauma of summoning, posed no threat. As the final manacle clasped his neck, the form opened its eyes. They were empty and depthless things, void on a deeper level than Nathun cared to contemplate.
With the final preparation complete, Nathun took his appointed place, and sat cross-legged in front of the shackled and warded being.
Here he whispered a word, and the daemon’s head slowly began to rise.
Not a word, a name.
The whimpering was gone, and in its place the daemon rasped a chuckle. It’s voice was barely more than a growl, and the sound raised hairs on Nathun’s neck.
“What a splendid little summoning,” The infernal cooed, “Quaint. Perhaps even rustic.”
Nathun didn’t respond. Instead, he flipped the pages of his book to the desired passage.
The daemon continued, “It won’t be quaint though, the things I will do to you. You know this binding won’t hold me for long. I do hope you have a plan.”
Now, Nathun looked up and stared into the void-eyes.
“I’d like to make a deal.” Nathun demurred.
The thing laughed, “And what makes you think I have any interest in your deal? You pathetic mewling littl-”
Nathun spoke the word again. The name. The daemon winced, silenced by the use of his true name.
Nathun repeated himself, “I’d like to make a deal”.
“That’s a pretty little trick. A phrase of my true name. It’s not enough.It’s only one part of the whole. You can’t hope to bind or banish me with that alone”
The summoner nodded, “I know.”
“Then what? You think I’ll do you a favor for freedom from this paltry prison?”
“No. A trade for something else.”
The daemon licked its thin lips. The tongue that slipped out of its slit mouth was forked.
“You know the price. Damn yourself, and in the next life your soul will be bound to mine, as mine will be to yours now.”
Nathun waited, and drew a deep breath.
“I accept.”
The runes on both Nathun and the daemon began to glow. Nathun bit down hard as they burned into his skin. The daemon howled in agony.
Around Nathun’s brow, a crown of runes began to form, burning into his skin. The invisible ink he had daubed there, activated by the final act of binding.
The daemon saw it and growled.
“That wasn’t part of the deal…”
The crowning circle was complete now, and blood trickled down Nathun’s face, stinging his eyes as it fell.
“I’ve damned myself daemon,” Nathun angrily, striding forwards, “And now I’ve bound you, I don’t intend on giving you a damn thing.”
Empowered with anger and eldritch power, the summoner kicked the daemonic form in the chest. The chains on each of the beings limbs cracked and shattered, and the form of the being slid backwards against the cellar wall.
Nathun pointed at his bleeding crown, “This is the crown of the end. It binds the souls of two beings together, twinning their fates. And this rune here?” He said, pointing at a symbol, “This is the rune of silence. You know what that one does don’t you?”
The daemon growled.
Nathun smiled, “No resurrection in your hellscape plane, no rebirth. The cycle ends with us here. I don’t know what will happen when I die, but wherever I end up you’ll be right there with me.”
The thing's eyes glowed with balefire, and though it clearly wished to harm the summoner, it could not.
Shrugging his tunic and coat back on, the man waved his arm at the infernal being.
“Come now, we have work to do.”
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Stories in reading order. Standalone stories can be read in any order (or not at all), although significant story arcs may mention and be built up from standalone stories. However, the end of certain arcs may require knowledge of characters and events from certain Standalone stories.
Welcome to the thrilling finale of this arc of Aster Mills! There will be more soon- but this brings the four part centerpiece to a close- and sets up a new, terrifying villain!

Whalesong I: Aster and the World of Brilliant Light

Aster and the False God of Stories (Standalone)
Aster and the Whisperling Storm (Standalone)
Aster and the Harpy King (Part One) - Ogland Bridge Arc
Aster and the Harpy King (Part Two) - Ogland Bridge Arc
Aster and the Numerology of Dead Gods (Standalone)
Aster and the Belly of the Whale (Part One) - Corpse Sea Arc (Standalone)
Aster and the Belly of the Whale (Part Two) - Corpse Sea Arc (Standalone)
Aster and the Harpy King (Part Three) - Ogland Bridge Arc
Aster and the Harpy King (Part FouFinale) - Ogland Bridge Arc

Whalesong II: Aster and the Death of the Ether

Aster and the Lord of the Forest - Standalone
Aster and the Child of Grain (I: Burial Rites) - Child of Grain Arc
Aster and the Child of Grain (II: Poison and Pesticide) - Child of Grain Arc
Aster and the Sa Aterro Tomb (Part One) - The Remnant Arc (Standalone)
Aster and the Sa Aterro Tomb (Part Two) - The Remnant Arc (Standalone)
Aster and the Child of Grain (III: Open Flame) - Child of Grain Arc
You're Reading: Aster and the Child of Grain (IV: Consuption) - Child of Grain Arc
IV: Consumption
“We are assuming the target is the main Verne and Sons Logging operation downstream,” Julian began, an enchanted clay model depicting the location. “Several temp buildings here.”
Thylum shook his head and folded his hand. The clay model changed, zooming out nearby, so that we viewed an entirely different set of buildings. “There’s also this mining operation run by Verne and Sons,” Thylum informed. “This may also be a target.”
“This is true,” Quint added, “but does the Free Orchard have the numbers to attack and neutralize both?”
Matt looked up from his notes. “I saw about twenty, maybe thirty people at the meeting earlier. Assuming that Verne and Sons does not hire magicians it is an easy victory for the Orchard.”
I realized something- we’d seen Kryse Family diplomats at the Free Orchard meeting. I did a quick google search on their family. “The Kryse’s are stakeholders in Verne and Sons,” I said, speaking up. “They will defend their interests.”
Quint muttered something rude to himself, then spoke. “The Kryse’s don’t get along with us.” This was true. The Kryse’s were attuned to the ether, but they seemed to care more about their family’s interests in control and money more than the natural order.
Julian nodded along. “I can extend a message to the Kryse Family,” he offered. “Though I fear they could use this opportunity to wipe both us and the Free Orchard off the map.”
“Best not,” I decided. “Has Fern contacted us yet?”
Fern had stayed behind, an agent within the Free Orchard, so that we could plan ahead of time, know their plans.
“Not yet,” Quint told. “And night quickly approaches- we must ready our people.”
It was time to draw battle plans. Assuming that both targets would be attacked by the terrorists, we needed a dual defense. The sites were less than a few miles from each other.
But it was quickly settled. Julian’s people- followers of the New Gods would attack the mining operation, where their powers, stemming from the reflection of mankind would be strongest.
Quint and the Wanderer Society would combat the Free Orchard at the logging site, where the woods met machines. There, at the frontier of man and nature we would be strongest.
And then Fern called in, out in the woods outside the museum. The sun was setting, and the Orchard prepared.
We discussed our plans with her. She confirmed our suspicions. “The Child is leading the attack on the logging operation,” she started, “and the Father is taking on the mine- 20 people each.”
We had vastly underestimated their yield. “They outnumber us two to one,” Matt murmured. “I do not like those odds.”
“And where are you heading?” I asked.
Fern looked around, afraid. “The woods.” I nodded and told her we’d meet there. And so it began. There was no time for quips, for jokes- this was a time of dark tidings.
We sat in an inconspicuous car now, traveling the road, watching it all pass by. A caravan of cars, Julian’s people ahead of us, and mine leading the group.
We needed to get there before the Orchard, to set up our own defenses. Thylum readied himself, practicing shape signs upon a rock. Matt nervously cocked his rifle and checked it.
I slipped on my Whalebone gloves, attuning myself to the true world. The universe resonated with me, and I felt the presence of all things.
Quint steadied his driving. And in the blink of an eye, we were there.
I got out and steadied myself, feeling the pain of the earth. Four temporary buildings, large and rectangular sat in the distance. Workers ate and laughed, entering each- two housing units, a storage building, and a little cafeteria and gathering place.
Two people approached the group of us, in business suits.
I recognized one from earlier. “I am Ellie Kryse,” she introduced. “If you are here to strike down this operation-”
I shook my head. “We’re here to stop the Free Orchard.” She and her partner whispered something. “If they win here- they will prove they can win everywhere.”
The man nodded, to this. “I thought the Wanderer Society would support the goal of the Orchard.”
Quint shook his head tentatively. “In environmental restoration, yes,” he answered. “But not through senseless violence. We’ve had our differences-” I knew the Kryse Family had routinely been messing senselessly with the ether before, “-but we cannot let the Free Orchard succeed.”
I personally had only read up on the Kryses, but I’d never fought with or against one. But I knew they were inextricably intelligent, manipulating individuals.
Ellie shook her head in disgust. “The thought of working with a Mognis sickens me,” she murmured. “But this is a necessary alliance.” The man beside her nodded.
“And will you people stop trying to open a door into the Other Side?” Quint remarked, half joking.
The Other Side was a concept- the world where all the creatures of magic were beginning to cross over to, returning home. “Not our division,” the man replied, a smile on his face. “Sworn enemy or not, this will make us even.”
“What does he mean?” Thylum asked.
Quint smirked. “Not important- I’d helped them out before, and we’ll take this as a return favor.”
“Any other favors you’d like to cash in?” Matt suggested. He checked his phone, an app Julian had made us download. “Fern’s tracker shows them arriving here in ten minutes.”
“We’d best get started,” Ellie decided. “Basil- inform Anacoretta of this new development- I want resources as soon as possible. Oh,” she looked over at two workers eyeing us, “send all the workers to their quarters and lock it- we can’t have more loose threads.”
“I thought Anacorreta died,” Quint pointed out.
Basil turned around as he went to do his bidding. “You have your secrets. We have ours.” Quint shrugged and nodded. He turned to us then, and began instruction. “We’re going to make a shield!”
“Which ritual?” someone asked. In the distance, workers walked over to the large white building that housed them. Basil closed the doors, and with a prick of a knife, cast a spell, locking them in.
Quint thought a bit. “None you guys know- an old trick of mine.” He continued quickly- we worked together, spreading out and pressing our hands against the dirt.
“Why lock the workers in?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be safer to send them to town?”
Ellie shook her head. “These workers know too much- my family must not lose them.” That sounded shady. But this was the cost of our alliance.
Quint chanted something, and a line encircled the camp, a slight haze in the air- a barrier between the site and the outside world.
Ellie clapped slowly. “The Mognis half of the Zhi Vernysis.” She nodded, approving. “Let me and Basil complete the second half- the Shi Matyreo.”
There was clearly something more to these people and their relationship with Quint, and by extension- the Mognis name.
But now was not the time for questions. “Three minutes!” Matt shouted, readying his weapon.
Ellie and Basil held hands and chanted something- the skies seemed to darken, and the barrier reinforced itself, hastily vibrating with power. Thylum folded his hands, and the small rock he’d been carrying flung itself at the barrier- and it vaporized.
“It works,” Quint hoped. “We end the ritual now.”
“Agreed- anymore and the Knowing One will witness all,” Ellie murmured. Whatever their connection- it was a question for another day.
“They’re here,” Matt informed, pointing behind us- the woods. The shield perimeter wrapped around and remained strong as we moved to view them.
The Child, now older, fourteen, fifteen by the look of it drew closer, until he was right at the edge of the shield wall.
“You join us, Whale Worshipper,” he smiled, gently speaking. “Do you join us in victory?”
I shook my head. “I have a name. Aster.”
The Child studied the shield, his followers gathering behind him. I saw Fern too, eyeing me. “I do not,” the Child confessed. “They say I will bring calmness to the world. Peace.”
“When all things die, there is silence,” I responded. “That is no calm prayer.”
The Child pressed his hands against the shield and winced in pain- or was it annoyance. “I am that which would bring calmness to the world. There is no change without action. And this action will teach us to be tranquil, one with nature. It will-” he removed his hands, “bring a state of peace.”
I shrugged, “Still not a name,” I informed. “The Child that Will Bring Peace just isn’t speakable.”
The elderly woman who joined him gave me a look. “Do not tease the Child,” she warned.
The Child waved her away. “It is alright. Perhaps that will be my name,” he decided, “a name that is a state of peace.”
“What’s that?” I asked, talking through my teeth.
“I am Zen,” he decided, both a declaration of name and state of mind. He was irredeemably peaceful as he spoke, even as his words carried the ideas of death. “And you will not succeed tonight.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Even with your spy in our midst- do not worry for her safety. She is attuned- and thus worthy of safety.”
With that, Zen stepped back and ordered for his people to attack.
And so they did- the old woman sent fiery salamanders conjured from the mind onto the shield- which vaporized it completely. A younger man reached to the skies- and birds, now enchanted, came crashing down- blood erupting over the perimeter.
The folk elements crashed onto the shield- but it held strong.
Zen held up a hand and his people stopped. “You use the beginning of a ritual and use its energy for defense,” he inspected, declaring this to all. “I applaud the ingenuity- but,” he stepped forward.
I readied myself, walking back. Matt raised his rifle and chose a target. So did the rest of our people. The two Kryse’s began to invoke the name of something ancient.
“The invoked remnant of a god is nothing compared to one born of the Ether.” And with that, he reached through the barrier, wincing in pain, and wrenched a way in- practically snarling.
And then cracks appeared in the barrier- and with a thundering snap it shattered- sparks of energy crackling around us.
Zen smiled as his people, small in number as they were, advanced. “Let us cleanse this rot from the Orchard.”
Matt struck first- a bolt of purified ether bursting from his rifle. Zen reached out and the bolt stopped midair- then transforming into a thousand seeds. The elderly woman drew breath, and drew a symbol in the air.
A circular projection diagram appeared- and fire burst forward- aiming at me and Quint.
I crushed my sea marble and water defended me- nullifying the flames. Quint elected for a more brazen approach- reaching into the flames and returning it to its sender.
A Fen-Masked servant struck forward from the smoke that had come from the fire, charging and pouncing like an animal at us. Thylum clasped his hands and mimed a slashing motion- the earth drew up and sent his assailant flying.
“We will handle the God-Child,” Ellie announced. “Basil- with me!” And the two spoke in tongues, then drawing forth blood from their fingertips.
“I will join you-” Quint drew forth his knife, and whispered vile words into it.
And so the three danced into battle, surrounding Zen. The God-Child smiled and drew forth the ether itself, sending hissing daggers at the three.
Three Orchard members set their sights on me- the elderly Firebreather and her two aides, a man and a woman. Their tattoos glistened and burnt with ancient folk magic.
I had dealt with rogue Salamander Worshippers before. I looked around- both Matt and Thylum were preoccupied with their own battles. Everyone else too, was locked in war.
Water against fire- the three drew up triangular diagrams- and a concentrated pillar of fire drilled against my water layer. I felt the ether course through me-
-and with a decisive push I collapsed my barrier into my own diagram- a six pointed hexagram.
Theirs was a pillar of fire- mine drew forth spirits of water beyond our world- strange liquid beings now at my aid. But I had to be quick- invocation was not my strongest suit.
I left the diagram to defend itself. Now I drew another weapon- a book. For the Whale was the god of storytelling- and the ink drew itself to life. It was a record of my travels- and I drew forth its words.
The spirit of the whale washed over me as serpentine ink dragons erupted from it, coiling and snapping at the Firebreathers.
The diagram I’d made melted away as I drew my attention to the ink, collapsing back into a marble. But it had done its duty- the water had extinguished and weakened the flame.
The ink swirled and in my mind’s eye I saw the stories of the three- and the loss of their ancestral home when the companies of oil and gold found what they sought.
The ink had exhausted them now, replaying their darkest memories- I raised a hand to their head and whispered softly, giving them the gift of sleep and story in dream.
Three down. I looked up to see how the battle fared.
Matt fired and dispatched the Fen-Follower I’d seen. Thylum warped the clothes of a fleeing man, incapacitating him. Our people pushed back against the terrorists, drawing forth the sleeping names of ancient deities.
A bolt of lightning struck near me- but Fern stopped it with a strange sandy liquid- she had given up the act and fought with us now.
We were on the verge of victory.
And then Ellie screamed in agony, and I saw her on her knees, Zen pressing his palm into her head. Quint and Basil went cast aside, quickly scrambling to get up.
But it was too late- Zen smiled grimly and he pushed the Kryse woman away. She got up and tried to strike back, but failed. And then she gasped in horror as flowers began to bloom on her arm.
And then her chest. Her wrists, her knees- and suddenly from within her throat, now choking. And then she backed away and fell- then freezing in place as her entire body was transmuted into a flower-filled tree.
The Kryses, working with Quint, were powerful. But the child of a god would always make them seem small. But her fight and sacrifice had bought us enough time to turn it into a victory.
Quint practically hissed and leapt from the earth- strange serrated knife plunging into Zen, who snarled in pain.
The carvings on the knife began to glow- draining Zen away. Quint plunged it out and recollected himself.
Zen backed away, not terrified, but oddly calm. “My children,” he began, coughing, “we cannot win like this- regroup!”
His words were less honeyed now, instead blunt, crushing. I was almost tempted to walk with him. His followers obeyed, and they retreated to a distance.
“Ellie,” Basil whispered, a tear in his eye. “He killed my sister!“
Quint reached for him and brought him up. “And he will kill many more if we don’t act now- we need to create another barrier.”
Basil shook his head in defeat. “He’ll just break it again like the first time.”
“No he won’t- the poisons carved into this knife is Gu from the five noxious creatures- its toxins will keep him at bay- for now,” Quint informed. He sighted me and nodded.
I relayed the information to our people.
“I recall that knife being an heirloom of my people,” Basil hissed.
“Before it was Krysian the knife belonged to the Adyr,” Quint insisted. “Now cast the damn ritual!”
We drew to the earth.
Quint and Basil chanted- and the shield perimeter emerged again, smaller- we had been pushed back towards the worker quarters, who banged at the doors, confused.
Quint and Basil focused themselves. I took the lead. “How many dead?!” I snapped. “Injured?”
Thylum counted- so did I. “Two- three dead,” he murmured. “All of us have suffered injuries- one unconscious.”
I checked myself- I’d suffered burns, but nothing that couldn’t be erased with a spell. “Our enemies?”
Matt appeared with a binocular. “We’ve taken six prisoner- three of which you dealt with,” he answered. “Three more of them dead outside the barrier- we’ve both faced major losses here.”
Fern handed me a piece of paper. “Took this from them when I had the chance- don’t know what language, though.” I stared at it- I didn’t understand it either.
I swore in Whaletongue and walked over to the barrier. Zen was tending to a dying follower, speaking sweet words as the follower passed from our world into the next.
“Zen!” I shouted. He closed the eyes of the dead and walked over. “Do you not see how violence brings only pain?!”
Zen looked oddly repentant now. “You appear to be correct,” he confessed. “I feel the pain of my followers- and yours. Perhaps violence begets only more pain and chaos.”
I was taken aback- I assumed he’d stay steadfast in his belief. “Then stop this! We can work together and find another way!”
Zen sat down, cross legged. I joined him. “I shall formulate a different plan to cleansing the earth,” he murmured. “But the world must be shown the true path- to reject the great machine and embrace the natural world once again.”
“And we can do that,” I replied. “But not through blood. Crushing those who stand in your way will only create martyrs and create another divide between those who can see beyond, and those who remain ignorant.”
Zen nodded solemnly. “The Father is wrong,” he realized. “Violence begets violence.”
He was more receptive than I’d thought. “Then stop this,” I insisted. “Join us instead.”
Zen closed his eyes and thought. “No,” he murmured. “This win would be a call to action,” he answered. “This is the only violence necessary- a sacrificial statement that will rouse the sleeping to my cause.”
He was right. “But those are still human lives!” I argued. “Just because it will remind the Attuned we need to fight for cane doesn’t make it moral!”
“Precisely so,” Zen said. “They’re human. Not attuned. Not like us- more than human. Their lives only ruin the earth-” he raised a hand to silence me, “but they do not deserve senseless pain.”
He was thinking now. “Then leave this!”
“They must die for our people to walk across the earth once again,” Zen decided. “Be ready, Whale-Follower,” he warned. “Masuya Daran will be here soon.”
He began to rise, to walk away. “What does that mean?!” I called.
Quint, exhausted, approached me, watching the demigod leave. “I’ve received word from Julian,” he started. “Their team has been defeated. They say an eighty percent casualty rate on our people and the miners.”
“And,” I continued, “I assume the Father is on his way here now?”
And then the skies lit up as a divine meteor pummeled the wall. We turned to the opposite side, the one facing the road. “I would say,” the long-lived man and his people, bloody drew outside, “he’s arrived.”
I readied myself, joining the rest of the group in the middle. We regrouped ourselves and cast a quick healing spell.
“If we die here,” Matt began, half joking, “I want you to know that your macarons are really not that bad.”
“What are you even talking about?” I wondered. Ahead of us, the Father began uttering a spell- and carvings began to be etched into the barrier, slowly weakening it. “I didn’t make any macaroons.”
Fern’s face went an odd shade. “I think he’s talking about mine.”
“I’ll have to try some,” I murmured. “Provided we win this.”
And then Zen emerged and shattered the weakened barrier, sparks once again erupting through the air.
And then it began again- we raised our weapons and made our stand- the few against the many.
My sphere was extinguished, so I opted for something deadlier. A little triangular chip, one which I bit- the power of the salamander coursed through my veins.
And then we fought- I breathed fire onto a man made of insects- he sent ants erupting all over be, stinging and devouring at me. Matt’s rifle was cut in half by a man with a sword- but he sent a punch to the throat.
Another Fen follower was locked in battle with Fern, slashing at her with claws. She drew back, and with the utterance of a spell, invoked snakevine from the earth around the fey-worshiper.
Basil Kryse and Quint Mognis, in unlikely alliance fought as a pair- their ancient knowledges working as two parts of a whole- there was more to their lore, I was certain.
Basil struck and uttered half a spell- and Quint concluded it- and three members of the Orchard erupted in black flame.
But this duality was met by Zen and the Father- the two pushing their people aside as they injured our people. The Father raised a knife to kill an old friend- but Zen stopped him, instead choosing to put him to sleep.
Our victories were minimal.
All around us there were too many of them- without the other team this stand meant nothing. And with the victory the Free Orchard had seized, every cut, every injury on both our sides was a sign they were right.
Zen and the Father sealed our fates- within minutes our agents were down- Fern too, and then Thylum.
Matt attempted to rush forwards, but Zen, with a flick of a finger, sent him sliding across the debris. “Father,” Zen began, “deal with the star-blooded. But do not kill them.”
“I will do so,” he answered, walking over.
Quint and Basil fought wildly- but they had extended their power too much, and fell quickly.
I backed away and found myself against the quarters of the workers. I had one option- to let them free and hope they’d live. Whatever secrets the Kryse’s were digging into here could be free, for all I cared.
Better than death.
I began to unlock the spell holding the door. “You will not let them free,” Zen ordered, behind me. “They must perish so that the ether may be restored.”
I ignored him and unlocked it. I opened the door to see terrified, confused workers. I turned to Zen and readied myself, ready to buy time. “If your call to action begins with blood-”
He cut me off and reached into the ether, dragging me aside through the dirt. The workers scrambled to run, but stalks of thorny field blocked the exit. “But this call to action will save so many- by bringing the Attuned to actions- we can fix the world.”
“How?!” I snapped. “You say you agree that violence is not the answer- but you haven’t explained yourself?!”
Zen knelt beside me. He snapped and fire burst through the field, unnatura fire that quickly spread across the building. And through screams he spoke in whispers. “Because you wouldn’t agree either way,” he murmured. The screams grew louder- he had won. “But it is the only option. Our forests are not bathed and grown blood- so we should not feed it blood and expect regrowth.”
“Then what?” I attempted to stand, but he pushed on me through the ether, holding me in place.
He began to speak of something else. “If there is anything to seek so revenge it is the seed of the earth. It is buried alive, but its persistence drives it forward.” He was the seed. A parable. “It is poisoned with pesticide and death. But it becomes stronger than ever. Then it is milled and burned in ovens and mills. And then what has it for its actions? For living?”
“It’s eaten,” I answered. “It’s grain.”
The screams began to die now- whatever otherworldly fire he had used was violently fast. “Humanity abuses the earth- my kind like this, but you, in the short words we have spoken have taught me more. Violence will forever cause persistence, cause divide.”
“Then what the hell do you want?”
Zen sat down, crosslegged again and nodded to himself.
He recited the parable from earlier.
"Does a rotted apple not poison the barrel? Should we not then cleanse the Orchard and ensure it is healthy and restored to order? Humanity is very much like an unkempt orchard- only those who respect the earth, connect to its very essence, ether should be kept.” It was different now.
“I,” he continued, “would not bring this about with violence- I would sterilize the Human Race in secret- save one- those connected to the true earth. We would end climate change- racial genocide, and restore the world to environmental balance- to natural order! For does a worm not remain in the ground? Does a bird not cling to the skies? Should humanity then not return to its natural place and respect the earth once more?”
“That’s-”
He silenced me. “Hush now, child of the free earth,” he assured. “I am patient. Our people would repopulate the earth. Father is not patient enough. His ideas of violence need to be proven in the Now. But why choose violence when you can elimate the enemy without shedding a scale of blood.”
Father approached us now, admiring the flames. “Child,” he began.
“My name is Zen,” he informed.
“We’re spreading our flyers everywhere,” he told. “I think our next target is the Paracell Oil-” and then he stopped, wincing. Zen stood up, matching his height. The Father coughed now, and petals drifted from his mouth.
“Your ideas are too violent,” Zen added. “They would cause- like here today, the bloodshed of our people too.”
He choked. “I summoned you!” More petals drifted. “A little sacrifice-”
“Hush now, child of the earth,” Zen whispered. I felt my own vision fading as Zen’s influence affected me. “You have lived too long, heard the song of the dead, too far. Your violence can only blossom.”
“I can change,” he coughed, dying, falling to his knees. “I will follow your lead.”
“I see all futures of my people,” Zen claimed. “And you would lead your sect into pain. Hush now, free child,” he assured. “You will rest in my Father’s domain.”
And with that, the Father blossomed into a thousand strange orchids. Zen looked at me, and with a clasping of the hand, sent me into dream.
When I awoke, it was morning. Quint was up, and so was everyone- though not for long.
“They’re all alive!” Quint shouted. I looked over, standing to see our people who had died- had risen with the sun. “Impossible.”
But the workers were all dead.
“It was Zen,” I murmured. “I think I’ve made him worse.”
Quint checked his phone- Julian’s team was fine, revived as the sun grew brighter.
“Don’t worry about it,” Matt spoke up, hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get through this.”
I shook my head. “I know we will,” I answered. “But the world may not.”
I picked up a poster held to the ground by a rock, drifting in the wind. My eyes looked over its manifesto, its call to action. They settled on the apple tree in the center of the page.
I focused on the two words below it. Two words that filled me with both hope and terrible disgust.
I read them aloud. “Free Orchard.”
​
Next Time: Aster and the Exorcism
Later Next Song: Aster and the Free Orchard

DAY APRIL 20 2024
​

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PART ONE THOUSAND
[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
Wow. I wasn’t huge on the whole social cues, but even for me, Tucker’s exuberance was over the top. Kulon and Donald silently followed us into a dining room that housed a twelve-seater banquet table. Only one end had been set up with breakfast options, with the three seats around the head of the table for eating. I saw an older, portly man in all white placing a dish on the table when we approached, and his smile not quite reaching his eyes when he saw Geraldine.
My hackles were immediately raised.
“Miss Portsmith, so good to see you again,” an older woman in a maid’s outfit said with a small curtsey, her smile just as forced.
What the heck is wrong with these people?
Geraldine broke away from her father and rushed to the elderly maid first, wrapping her arms around the woman’s neck and clinging to her as if her life depended on it. “I’m sooo sorry, Mrs Kendricks,” my girl sobbed. “I can’t believe I was so horrible to you and Chef Rawlins.”
The woman’s eyes went to Tucker in confusion as her arms curled awkwardly around my girl. Tucker looked at me with the same level of bewilderment, and I couldn’t help myself. I smiled like I was the king of the world. Remembering what my girl had been like before she moved in with me, their wariness now made sense.
Mrs Kendricks offered her hushed words of comfort and tried (failed miserably but tried) to discreetly slip Geraldine a handkerchief to use while rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were just as damp, so I figured this was a long time coming.
As Gerry repeated her heartfelt apology to Chef Rawlins, Tucker took his seat at the head of the table, leaving Gerry and me to have a seat on either side of him. I wasn’t thrilled with that layout, preferring my girl beside me, but this breakfast was for Gerry. She needed to hear about her parents’ divorce from her father. I opened my arms once she pulled away from Chef Rawlins, and she flew into them, pressing her face into my throat. I held her tight, not caring that all eyes were now on us.
“You did good, angel,” I whispered, nuzzling her hair. “But I think your dad’s getting hungry.” I knew I was.
She eventually pulled just far enough away from my shoulder to slip the hand with the handkerchief between us to wipe her face. “Do I look okay?” she asked, staring across at me hopefully.
I was glad she hadn’t gone all out on her makeup, or she would’ve looked like a melting racoon, and I sucked at lying. As it was, there were very faint streaks in her foundation that I was able to wipe away with my own handkerchief. “Perfect,” I assured her with a light kiss, then walked her to the nearest chair.
As I pulled it out and helped her sit, my eyes slid across our breakfast options.
No egg-filled baguettes?
The thought popped into my mind, and I immediately wanted to slap myself stupid. Just because I was really partial to them, and Robbie always made them with the perfect amount of fluffy— What the hell, Willcott?!
Keeping a stranglehold on my snobbery, I waited until Gerry was situated before I moved around behind Tucker to my own seat across from her. In doing so, I walked between Tucker and Donald and was rather proud of the fact that I didn’t shiver under Donald’s blistering gaze that I swore was attempting to incinerate my soul. Kulon’s, when I checked where he stood behind my seat, wasn’t any happier. Great. The Titans were facing off when only one was the genuine article.
“Daddy, what’s going on?” Geraldine asked, finally noticing the excessive number of armed men.
“They’re from the company, cupcake, and it’s what I wanted to talk to you and Sam about.”
I froze alongside my chair. Okay, this part's new.
He turned to me. “I understand your guard there is from your father’s personal militia?”
I glanced at Kulon again and made a mental note to thank him since his face resumed a neutral expression instead of scoffing at the idea. A thank you and a favour of his choice. Not one of those ‘you-must-or-else’ favours that Dad talked about, but a personal one from me to him. He could have easily destroyed my dad’s credibility by pointing out how Lady Col’s military answered to only her and Hasteinn, but for our sakes he was choosing to pretend he hadn’t heard it.
“One of three that have been assigned to me,” I agreed, not mentioning that another was in the room with us. “Eight-hour rotations.”
“Do you think you could ask your father to expand on that number?” Tucker asked.
I shook my head as I slid into my seat. No way would the true gryps give me any more guards. Knowing them, they probably didn’t want to provide me with the ones I had, except Lady Col was making them.
“We don’t need any more,” I assured him, waiting for Tucker to start eating before I helped myself to what looked like cinnamon toast of some kind. At home, Gerry took her cues from me, but this was the first man in her life, and we were in Tucker's home, so I would follow his lead. I knew they didn’t say grace, as Mrs Portsmith preferred to believe in things she could lay her hands on, like the rewards of hard work and a whole lot of other garbage she rammed down my girl’s neck.
Donald cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Mister Willcott, one person to protect you and Miss Portsmith in these potentially volatile times is both exceedingly short-sighted and woefully insufficient,” he stated, probably voicing his boss’ concerns so that Tucker didn’t have to.
Nevertheless, I felt my vision narrow as I slow-panned to the man who had intimidated me right up until two seconds ago. Is this guy for real?
He spoke again before I could. “The fact that he remained on your side of the table proves his priority between the two of you is you. Miss Portsmith will be an afterthought at best. Is that not correct, sir?”
Is that what this is?! A stupid test?! “Kulon could single-handedly replace the entire presidential Secret Service all by himself, so I would say, yeah, he’s plenty enough.” You asshat. Seeing the red start to creep into my vision and knowing I couldn’t afford to lose my temper here, I put down my cinnamon toast and reached into my pants pocket. Pulling out my pills, I took one, and the red vanished as quickly as it came.
“What was that?” Tucker demanded.
“Medication that helps me stay calm. I take it before things get said that can’t be unsaid.” Not to mention actions. I still didn’t care what people thought of me … but come after those I consider mine at your own peril. As much as my divine temper was brought under control, there was no mistaking my irritation as I stared at Tucker, waiting for him to get to the point of this breakfast so we could leave.
“Daddy, for goodness’ sake! What’s going on?” Geraldine demanded as Tucker paled under my stare. If I weren’t so annoyed, I would’ve been amazed that I had that effect on anybody. “Why is Donald insulting Kulon, and why are you making Sam angry?”
“He’s—we—we’re not baby. He’s … we are worried about you. Kulon is only one man, and one man cannot prioritise two people equally. It’s physically impossible. If the worst situation were to occur, he'd have moments to make a judgement call and decide who he'd save first, and we all know his duty is to Sam. No one’s blaming him for that, but now that he’s seen the extent of my detail, I was hoping he would understand the situation warranted extra personnel for you as well…”
“What situation?!” Geraldine screeched.
I pushed my chair back with every intention of going over the table if I had to, to reach her, but Tucker’s hand shot out to keep me where I was.
“Cupcake, I’m divorcing your mother. The paperwork has already been drawn up that has her getting half of everything and the condo if she agrees to leave us alone.”
All the blood drained from Gerry’s face. “You paid her to stay away from me?!” she asked, crestfallen.
“NO!” Both Tucker and I shouted as one. We then looked at each other, and I gestured my apology for interrupting. “No,” Tucker repeated, taking her hand in both of his and twisting in his seat to face her more than me. “I’m not paying her to leave you alone, Geraldine. I would never do that to you.”
I would, in an effing heartbeat.
“I’m terrified that she’ll do something to you out of spite of me, and I’m paying her extra in the hopes that she doesn’t. But we both know your mother can be quite vindictive when she puts her mind to it.”
Instead of being comforted, Gerry pulled her hand out from her father’s and shot to her feet, her eyes on me. I pushed back farther from the table and gave her a small flick of my fingertips for her to come to me.
She flew around the table and threw herself at me, crawling into my lap. I wrapped her up in my arms, angling my head to make as much contact as possible. “It’s okay, angel,” I whispered, giving her father the stink-eye over her hair. “No one’s asking you to pick sides. In fact, he’s asking you not to.” My gaze narrowed. “Isn’t that right, Tuck?”
My tone was anything but friendly, but he had to know none of this was okay with me. Since all I’d had was a few bites of toast, and Geraldine hadn’t even had that, I slid my hand under her knees and lifted her into the air.
Tucker gasped and went to speak but stopped when Kulon moved sideways and pulled out the empty seat directly beside the one I’d been allocated. I sat back down, still cuddling my girl close.
“Tuck,” I repeated, not sure I should still be using the friendly term given we were back on shaky ground but willing to try and keep things civilised. “Would you mind having Mrs Kendricks move my plate to here and Gerry’s to where mine is? Once Gerry’s calmed down, she can sit between us, and I trust you won’t try to separate us again?” It was posed as a question, though if it had teeth, it would have bitten him.
“Of course. Geraldine, please, I’m sorry. I would never do anything to hurt you intentionally. I just want you to be safe. Safe and happy. That’s all.”
“Take your time, baby,” I whispered as she continued to cling to me. “We have all day.”
As Geraldine started to settle, I watched both Mrs Kendricks and Chef Rawlins come forward and move the settings around until they were as I requested. They both smiled at me as they worked, which was nice.
“Why are you and Mother divorcing?” Gerry finally asked, sliding into her own seat. Her left hand never left my thigh, and I twisted in my seat to make it easier for her to reach. She needed that tactile contact.
I saw Tucker’s eyes glance at me and held my tongue.
“I can’t take being hurt anymore.”
Geraldine gasped, and her father reached forward, taking her right hand once more. “It’s between me and her, baby girl. I don’t want you to come into the middle of it. If you still want the details when it’s all over, I’ll give them to you then.”
“But Sam doesn’t have the authority to order more guards, Daddy. They come from the family’s estate.”
Tucker’s eyes found me again. “Then the company will supply…”
“No,” I said as I shook my head, cutting him off. “Dad’ll never allow that. No one outside the family and those who already live there can be at the apartment all the time.” Holy hell! Just thinking about some stranger being in our space twenty-four-seven, witnessing things he or she shouldn’t be witnessing and reporting them to Tucker was enough to have me breaking out in hives, let alone what Dad or any of the true gryps would do.
“But Geraldine must be protected!” Tucker argued.
“And I’m telling you she is,” I countered, just as fast. “No one is going anywhere near her. Not on our watch.”
“Sir, if I may?” Donald asked, and Tucker nodded. “Sam, may we all agree that we are attempting to do what is in Miss Portsmith’s best interest at this stage?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Yes,” Tucker agreed.
“Your guard may be experienced in one-on-one combat; however, the point Mister Portsmith is trying to make is that no one can be in two places at once. If your Mister Kulon needs to use his body to protect one of you, only one of you will gain that protection.”
“You’re assuming I won’t see the trouble coming and intercept it before it becomes a problem,” Kulon said, speaking for himself. “That is your first mistake.”
“And yours is to assume you are capable of more than you are, lad.”
Kulon’s gaze narrowed, and I must admit, I was getting annoyed now, too. “You might want to ask Thomas what I’m capable of,” Kulon growled.
Donald drew in an angry breath, but Geraldine got in first. “Kulon, Donald, please!” she insisted, seeing how badly this was spiralling.
“Kulon, my concern is for my daughter. Would you be able to prove your claims to my satisfaction?”
Easily, I thought, trying hard not to snicker. Gerry pinched my abdomen, so I guess I wasn’t as discreet as I hoped.
“What do you have in mind?” Kulon asked.
“Awwww, no fair! Why does he get all the fun?” Rubin whined in my ear.
“Ssshh,” I shushed sharply, not even bothering to wonder how Rubin was doing that.
“What?” Tucker asked.
“Nothing,” I said, waving the subject aside. “Just thinking out loud. What would it take for you to be satisfied?”
Instead of answering, Tucker turned to Donald, who was frowning thoughtfully.
“Sir, if we hired one of the hotel’s large conference rooms, we could have Sam and Miss Portsmith walk down the centre of the room, and the men we have here could attempt to capture Miss Portsmith.”
“Except I already know who you’ll be targeting,” Kulon argued.
“Many animals know they’re being targeted by an ant swarm, Kulon. It doesn’t mean the numbers won’t win in the end. Thirteen trained personnel against one, defending two targets simultaneously … you simply can’t beat those numbers.”
Kulon looked at me, and for those few moments, I got a hint of what Dad must feel like being a worshipped god. That or an ancient times emperor, for I know my smirk was that smug when I maintained eye contact with Kulon and said, “Prove him wrong.”
Kulon folded his arms, his superior grin matching mine.
“And unless you think I’m gonna detonate, you stay out of it, Rubin,” I whispered as quietly as I could. It would frustrate him no end to see Kulon having all the fun, but this was in-house, and whatever they had planned, it wouldn’t require Rubin to reveal himself. And it was highly unlikely that I would detonate, since I’d just taken one of Lady Col’s pills.
Fifteen minutes later, Gerry, Kulon, and I were standing in the doorway of a conference room that had been cleared to reveal deep purple carpets with silver Greek-like borders and one accent wall done in circles ranging from white to purple. White was everywhere else: square white posts and white blinds that covered half of the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows down the right side.
Six men were lined up on either side of the room, with Tucker and Donald at the far end. “Kulon, you don’t have to do this,” Tucker insisted, his voice echoing off the almost empty space. “These men know what they are doing. The numbers are impossible to beat. I have all the respect in the world for you, young man…”
“If I can’t win this, I’ll have no respect for myself,” Kulon replied, cracking his neck in both directions just by tilting his head.
“Then, at least let me take Gerry’s place,” Tucker said, taking a step towards us. “It makes no difference for this display whether it’s her or me in the firing line.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” I answered, curling my arm around Gerry’s shoulders while she leaned heavily into me. There was no doubt in either of our minds that the safest place in the room for her was at my side, hands down.
“Kulon, don’t hurt them too much, okay? Daddy needs them to protect him.”
Kulon’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly without answering, and I had to wonder if he really had intended on going all out on these guys. For all of our sakes, I certainly hoped not.
“Very well,” Tucker said, his expression resigned. He nodded at Donald, who raised his hand to his shoulder and snapped his fingers.
Pretentious git, I thought, as the men left their lines in a bid to reach us first. Kulon left us and met them about five feet ahead of us. And he was so fluid in his strikes! Damn, watching him mow through them was a glorious sight, and I was so captivated by his movements that I failed to see a subsequent problem until Gerry gasped and whirled around in front of me, using me as a shield.
I spun around with my arms outstretched to defend her, but I wasn’t quick enough to avoid the silver prongs that shot out at me or the familiar tac-tac-tac that had my body convulsing with electrical charge. It felt like it went on forever when it was probably only a couple of seconds, but over the rush in my ears, I heard Geraldine scream, and I realised someone had grabbed her.
My reaction was as instinctive as it was detrimental to the guy who held her.
Still jolting in time with that damned taser (which I was seriously thinking about force-feeding to the scumbag who zotted me) on my way to the floor, I kicked out with all my strength at the guy holding Geraldine.
Being completely off-balance turned out to be a good thing because when I connected with his stomach, he was driven back past his taser-wielding colleague, through the open doorway and slammed into the wall on the other side of the corridor; all without losing any height. If I’d have kicked him that hard while upright and braced, I’d have probably torn him in half.
Relief swamped me a moment later as about two feet of taser lines dropped to the ground beside my head.
Glancing at the cut lines, I knew despite my earlier ‘request’ for Rubin to stay out of it, he’d drawn the line at me being hurt. The fact that that was all he’d done instead of breaking cover and going on the attack with his brother was a testament to his training.
Kulon was another matter entirely.
“You fuckers!” he swore and threw his hands out, the first digit of his fingers almost detaching except for a thin fibre that connected them to the first knuckle. Each finger shot towards a standing guard, and as soon as it connected with them, they went down in what I hoped was unconsciousness. I made myself believe they were unconscious because if they weren’t, we’d be in so much trouble.
Geraldine dropped her weight on top of me, wrapping one arm around my neck and using the other to remove the prongs from my clothes. “It’s a Nascerdios thing,” she said loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear.
A quick reverse of Kulon’s hands' motion had his finger joints flying back into their original position. Ignoring Donald and Tucker at the other end of the room, he was with us in two long strides, but instead of stopping, he stepped over the top of us to go toe-to-toe with the guy who zotted me.
The guy stood frozen, shaking as Kulon loomed over the top of him. “Run … or die, motherfucker,” he snarled, his voice no longer human as his hands fisted angrily at his sides. “You have two seconds to choose.”
Dropping the taser gun, the man chose life by fleeing from the room.
All three of us then turned to look at Tucker and Donald.
[Next Chapter]
* * *
((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!